The Girl With Red Hair (The Last War Saga Book 1)

by Michael J Sanford

  Jaydan leaned back onto his heels and fell silent.

  “This is the Forest,” Sachihiro said as he slid off his perch. He had his lute in hand and was fiddling with the strings. The burly man looked far calmer than Alexander felt.

  “I can see that this is a forest,” Adelaide said, her eyes clear and firm. “But where is Thiladir? You must take me to Thiladir. Miss Hastings said.”

  Sachihiro shook his head. “No, this is the Forest. We’re not far from Woodhaerst. It’s…” His voice trailed off and he leaned against a nearby tree, eyes on his instrument.

  Whatever had come over Sachihiro had struck him hard. Now he looked unnerved. It didn’t make Alexander feel any better. He regained his composure and shifted closer to Adelaide. “I don’t know where Wolverhampton is or who Thiladir is, but we’ll help you get there if that’s what you need. And we’ll keep you safe. I promise.”

  Alexander turned to Jaydan and Sachihiro. They nodded in agreement. He breathed a sigh of relief. There was something undeniable about the strange crew he had stumbled upon. And the girl… There is none more precious than the young.

  Chapter Four

  UPON REFORMING, MAIRA collapsed onto the obsidian floor and heaved, spewing the entire contents of her stomach onto the black glass. Dying wasn’t the trouble; she had gotten used to that. It was the momentary lucidity that the transition brought. For just a few breaths she was cognizant of all that had been and all that was. She looked at the torn flesh, hair, and bile, and heaved again, this time expelling only air. She coughed violently. She had to be sure to be rid of all of the foulness.

  Wiping her mouth, she stood, found the silk-covered bed, and fell atop it, letting her arms fly freely over her head. She lay still for a long time, just staring at the many imperfections of the ceiling above, waiting for her mind to stitch itself back together. Slowly, the repulsion and sick desperation faded, but Maira still felt empty. Somewhere, deep in the recesses of her mind, she knew why, but to bring it to the forefront, or to verbalize it… well, that was forbidden.

  A stale breeze blew in from the open balcony, gently moving strands of black hair across her face. She didn’t bother brushing them back. There was no one to see her here. He knew not to call on her when she first returned; her mind was still fractured, the pieces slowly sliding back into place. Each time, the process took longer than before, and she wondered if this was the time she’d be trapped in between, knowing what she had been and what she was now. The body was such a simple thing to tear down and build up, but the mind… It was far more fragile.

  She allowed herself to close her eyes, daring to drift into the dark corners of her shifting memories. It was dangerous to be certain, but the temptation was often too great. In a few more moments she would forget the journey anyway. She needed to see… to feel the life she had so long ago left behind. I’ll return again, she said to herself. When all of this is done, I will return. And for what was done, I will watch the world wither and die. She smiled at the thought, even more so than from the memory of a life left behind. He had promised her, promised that if she followed, that she would be there for the end. It was all she wanted now. It was all she could want. She opened her eyes and sat up, turning to look toward the balcony and the ever-present night beyond. The air was stale and rich with death, but perhaps it would do her some good, serving as a reminder of what she was.

  She slid forward until her bare feet touched the cold obsidian floor and shuddered. Not from the chill—she hardly felt that any longer—but for what she knew lay ahead. She crossed the sprawling room and entered the night. Braced against the balcony railing, she allowed herself to lean out over the abyss and, for just a brief moment, entertained the idea of leaping off. True, it would change nothing. But the hope that it would… Another dangerous temptation.

  The idea flitted away and Maira immediately forgot it had ever existed. Hope was always one of the last things to go. Her mind had reformed, healing and hiding the most vulnerable of her memories and thoughts. A void remained, somewhere deep inside her, but it was easy enough to ignore. It was safer that way, she knew.

  The call came a moment later. He made it seem like a request, though she knew it was not. Not that she would ever deny Him. She loved Him. And she had so much to tell Him. No doubt He would be pleased.

  Maira looked out over the vastness of the Shadows and the many souls harbored within, and took a moment to restore her composure. She smoothed out her black dress, ran fingers through her hair, took a deep breath, and headed for the door. Just before leaving her sanctuary she made a point of wiping away any evidence of tears from her flawless face.

  One did not weep before a god.

  Chapter Five

  THE FIRST RAYS of dawn filtered through the canopy and cast the forest in shades of false promises. To Tannyl, the sudden approach of light was blinding. Little light was needed to reveal much. It was one of the few things that unnerved the Hunter. He wouldn’t argue if the sun rested one night never to wake again.

  He stopped moving and stood tensed, breathing heavily, fist clenched. Anger was an ever-present danger and he couldn’t always suppress it. It wasn’t what that child had said. He had hardly heard the words, though the edge to her voice sent a chill down his spine. But her accent. He remembered hearing the same haughty speech so long ago that it seemed another life. He wished it had been.

  He whirled on the nearest tree and punched. The rough bark tore at his knuckles and immediately brought blood to the open air. He grunted at the pain and struck again. And again. He continued to strike the tree until exhaustion seized his limbs and they dragged him weightily to the ground. Suddenly he was bitterly exhausted. He hadn’t slept during the night. None of them had, but how could they?

  They had run until one stumbled and couldn’t rise again. He wasn’t sure who had fallen. Tannyl called a stop to their retreat at that point, but sleep was never an option. Instead, they stared dumbly at each other across a meager fire until the sliver of the Daughter moon was directly overhead. Sachihiro had been the first to break the silence.

  “That was a dragon, yeah?”

  Tannyl had scoffed openly at that, though he hadn’t a better explanation for what had risen from the center of Woodhaerst. He knew the legends well.

  “You’ve been listening too closely to your uncle’s tales,” Jaydan retorted, ever the skeptic. The Healer was a good man, but he always needed proof of something before agreeing to its existence, and dragons defined myth.

  “Uncle…” Sachihiro said as he dropped his gaze and traced the runes of his lute with a finger. “Well, what would you call them then? Seemed like dragons to me.”

  “I’m more concerned over that… bitch,” Jaydan continued, venom in his eyes.

  Tannyl pounded his fist into the ground, forcing the memory from his mind. He needed to regain control. A lack of focus led to death. Or worse. His eyes scanned the trees and he allowed his breathing to slow. With each breath, he expelled a piece of the previous night, forcing it from his mind. The pain of that moment would get him nowhere. After a time, he was left with a peaceful absence.

  Tannyl breathed deeply, savoring the dewy air. The light of dawn made him feel exposed, but the scent was a welcome embrace. Fresh, clean, and right. Then he turned to the rest of his senses, activating each in turn, examining his surroundings, renewing his focus. Colors became more vibrant as he picked out the details of each leaf. The scent of soil and growth filled him with vigor, despite the deep ache of exhaustion in his bones. The small hairs on his body stood at attention and he became aware of the painful throbbing along his knuckles. He could feel the blood clotting, the healing process begun already.

  And then he sensed it. Fully aware, it was difficult for Tannyl to know exactly which of his senses has detected the presence, but it was there.

  “Show yourself,” he said calmly, keeping his body still, senses active. He could have his knife in hand in a blink. His fingers twitched with anticipation.


  A soft breeze rippled the foliage, an early morning sigh, but none answered his challenge. He shifted his eyes slowly from side to side, studying each shadow, every trunk, leaf, and branch...

  His eyes narrowed and he came to his feet in perfect silence and control. The hunting knife appeared in his hand. He didn’t dare blink.

  “I know you’re there. I can see you.”

  The branch Tannyl had been watching shifted ever so slightly. He smiled. A million other creatures could never see what he saw.

  “I know you’re sitting on that branch.”

  Another moment of silence passed. Then a small voice from the air said, “You can see me?”

  Tannyl nodded. “There’s a slight bend in the branch you’re sitting on. A bend that shouldn’t be there.”

  There was a passing shimmer and a small winged elf appeared, sitting exactly where Tannyl knew he’d be. The small creature was hardly larger than a hand, discounting the iridescent wings that fluttered behind him.

  With a flourish, the elf leapt atop the branch and bowed deeply.

  “Allow me to introduce myself,” he exclaimed, small voice resonating beyond reasonable expectations. “I am Erlen Dragontamer. A sprite of the Wyld. And I tame dragons!” He added exclamation to his statement by drawing a slim wooden sword from the scabbard at his side and thrusting it high into the air.

  Tannyl stared back at the creature. He had seen a sprite before, but this one was far more animated than he recalled the diminutive race of Fae creature being.

  Erlen spun, twirled, and brandished his sword at an invisible enemy. “You know, I tame dragons! Oh yes, of all shapes, sizes, and even colors! They don’t call me Erlen Dragontamer for nothing!”

  The corner of Tannyl’s mouth began to curl into a smile, but he forced it back to its usual place and abruptly turned and began walking away. It was a distraction he couldn’t afford. Distraction is what got Fae’Na killed. No, he thought, butchered.

  “Hey! Big elf, where are you going? I was just going to start the tale of the one-eyed dragon of Maul.” Erlen flitted beside Tannyl, hovering just in front of his shoulder, firmly in his periphery. “I tamed it, of course. For I am Erlen Dragontamer! Did you know that I tame dragons?”

  Tannyl swatted at the Fae, but it nimbly avoided the strike and moved to Tannyl’s other side.

  “There I was, all alone in the Cave of Maul,” he continued. “It was dark and damp and ever so scary. But not for ol’ Erlen. For I am Erlen Dragontamer! And I tame dragons!”

  Tannyl stopped his march and glared at the sprite. Erlen was twirling in the air, sword out, no doubt miming his fantastical story. Tannyl’s hand shot out like an arrow from his bow and pinned a delicate wing between his thumb and forefinger. Erlen halted his charade.

  “Hey! Unhand me, you great lout! I am Erlen Dragontamer! And I tame—”

  Tannyl cut him off with a quick twitch of his wrist. Not enough to hurt the sprite, but Tannyl needed his attention. He found his jaw was clenched and it took some effort to loosen it. He worked the anger from his body and let the breeze carry it away.

  Slowly, he said, “Listen, Erlen. Dragontamer. I do not have time for this. A lot has come down on me just this past night and I cannot be held accountable for what I may do to you if you continue to follow me.”

  He released the creature and crossed his arms. Though seldom seen outside their area of the Forest, sprites were not altogether unusual, and Tannyl knew Erlen posed no risk to him, even if he were to desire it. But the true trouble with sprites, and the quality that most irked Tannyl, was their constant need to be… cheerful. And Erlen seemed the most joyous of the bunch.

  Erlen twirled the tip of his sword and jammed it back into his scabbard. He pointed at Tannyl. “A problem? Well, why didn’t you say so? I am Erlen Dragontamer, and while I most certainly, always, and with cruel efficiency, tame dragons, I am also a wonderful, fantastical, and very capable problem solver! Quick, with haste, and right away, escort me to this problem so that I might—no, so that I will tame it!”

  Tannyl rolled his eyes. Somehow, this felt worse than having lost all of Woodhaerst.

  Chapter Six

  JAYDAN EYED THE lanky boy. Boy wasn’t quite the right word, but neither was man. Alexander couldn’t have been more than eighteen seasons, but he sat tall as he polished his glaive. His red hair was trussed back in a tight tail that hung between his shoulder blades. The similarity between this Alexander and the strange girl was uncanny. Jaydan had no reason to distrust him beyond habit, but having appeared at the same moment that Adelaide did was unnerving. And how Adelaide arrived was even more so.

  He shook his head, realizing he had been staring at him for some time, and turned back to his own thoughts. He could hear Adelaide splashing about in the nearby stream, washing. Sachihiro had gone back after the wolf, saying something about a “great idea for Addy.” Jaydan shook his head to no one but himself. He had grown up with Sachihiro Teller, and he had never once had a great idea.

  As he shifted positions, the polished box, stowed in a tight pocket, pressed painfully into his ribs. Jaydan withdrew the item and held it up in the first rays of dawn. He would have gotten to it sooner had Adelaide not distracted him. But as he looked over the box, a wash of emotions poured over him. Regret and longing were chief among them, with dread a close companion. He had pried the item from his father’s lifeless hand, amid the blood, beside his mother’s fallen corpse. Or what was left of her. Looking back, it seemed clear that his father’s last action had been to retrieve the box from a hidden floorboard. The plank was still displaced when Jaydan had gotten there.

  And then she had come…

  “You all right?” Alexander called.

  Jaydan centered his vision and looked at the freckled face. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  Kind, emerald eyes looked back. “You shouted something.”

  I did? he thought. Aloud, he said, “Just a bit of a cough. Night was a bit cold and I didn’t sleep much.” Or at all.

  Alexander smiled politely and returned to honing his blade. The soft giggle of a young girl drifted from the hidden stream. The Healer forced himself to smile as well.

  His fingers were wrapped around the box tight as a snake around a mouse, but the need to see inside outweighed the fear, and Jaydan managed to free the clasp and lift the hinged lid. The inside was lined with padded velvet, crimson and soft. There were only two items within: a folded square of parchment and a small, six-sided cube.

  Jaydan examined the cube first and saw at once that it was a playing die. Hash marks of ascending value were carved into the ivory cube: one, two, three, four, and then five. The sixth side held the etching of a skull and no tally marks. He brought the die nearly to the tip of his nose, running his fingers along the surface. It was most certainly some type of bone, and the carvings, while simple, were precisely done. His father had never shown the die to him before, and he had never known either of his parents to gamble.

  With more questions than answers, he replaced the die and carefully unfolded the parchment. It was fine starched linen, very expensive and hard to procure, he knew. His father’s sprawling script filled the single page, each letter finely drawn.

  My Dearest Son,

  I have written this letter every day since your birth. And every night I have burned it. I've wanted so badly to give it to you, but could never find the words or the courage. But, alas, you are reading this now, which means I am either a better man than I thought, or more likely, that I have died a coward. In either case, please forgive me.

  You must first understand that your mother and I love you and have done so since you were first born in our hearts and minds. We prayed in vain to the Forest Mother for years, wanting a child, but were unable to conceive. It crushed our souls like nothing else, to remain barren when our love and desire was so pure.

  He came to your mother first, promising a child. We thought it a delusion at first, driven by grief, but later he appeare
d to us both, in the dead of night. His name is Rhadiourgia and he is a strange creature, never appearing in quite the same manner. He offered not only a child, but prophesied that you would become skilled with both magic and the healing arts. Every night he came to us with the same promise and every night we refused, fearing what it would mean to sell our souls to this thing. But, in time, we grew old and desperate, ever aching for a child, and so we agreed to Rhadiourgia's terms. It has been both the greatest and most unfortunate decision of our lives.

  Rhadiourgia is a creature of chance and mischief, as we soon learned. With your birth he gave us the small bone die contained within this box. It is what gave us the power to heal and it is now your inheritance. It will bestow upon you untold power to heal others. He decides the outcome. You MUST keep it close.

  Please forgive us, dear son. It was love that blinded us and knowing you must now live with that creature burdens us deeply. You can become great, Jaydan, of that I am certain. We could not be more proud of everything you are and everything you will be. And if there is a way out from Rhadiourgia, I know you will find it.

  With all our love and sorrow,

  Mom and Dad

  Jaydan read the letter twice in quick succession, thinking the words an illusion of some sort. Then he read it a third time, more slowly, digesting each part as the pit in his stomach grew. He brought out the die and held it to the sun. He felt nothing strange or powerful from the artifact, which should have given him comfort, but it did quite the opposite. Everything in the world held some amount of magical energy; it persisted everywhere and in everything to varying degrees. Being able to sense the magic of the world was the first step toward wielding it at will. But the bone die was no different than any other mundane item.