Altered Destiny

by Shawna Thomas

  “What do you think it is?” Matias asked.

  Nathan followed Matias’s gaze to the top of Eagle Rock. Smoke from several chimneys skirted the peak like clouds along a mountaintop.

  “It’s a fortress,” Nathan deadpanned.

  “I know, but is it natural or did someone…” He waved a hand.

  Nathan could make out the faint lines of an eagle in one of the rock formations. Whoever carved the bird had been talented and brave. He had to agree with Matias’s untold declaration: Eagle Rock was an odd fortress. It appeared to be a large rock or a small mountain buried in the earth.

  The fortress boasted a simple but strong design. Carved out of solid rock, it only had two doors. One massive arched doorway led to a large hall. Even when Nathan had ordered every torch along the wall to be lit, the ceiling still hid in murky darkness. At the end of the hall, a door led to a smaller room now containing dozens of rough-hewn tables along with a large fireplace. When they first entered, Nathan had stuck his head up the chimney out of curiosity. Whoever had hollowed out the rock had to have been very small and fearless, or stupid. It was a long way down.

  A narrow hall led to the second, smaller door leading to the kitchen and another chimney. The fortress contained more fireplaces than he expected. Two corridors led from the main hall, one winding up to the heights, becoming narrower until the men could only walk single file—and then barely. The corridor opened into a round room with slatted windows carved out of the stone. A large shallow basin sat under a circular opening in the roof. From the room, the forest stretched out all around them in a sea of green. The opposite corridor wound its way into the depths of the earth, growing colder and damper with each step. Fortunately, the barracks were along the upper corridor—as were the majority of the two score single rooms—most, thankfully fitted with fireplaces to fight the dampness.

  Rumors abounded that the fortress had been built by the Ancients, but Nathan thought the place must have once been a dwelling for priests or healers. From time to time, when his mind was far away, he caught a whiff of herbs or incense, the ghost of a scent.

  “The wall bothers you?” Matias asked.

  Nathan glanced at his friend. “Yes. I don’t understand why the battlements don’t go all the way around the inside of the wall.”

  They nodded to the guards at the gate and walked inside to the courtyard. Nathan pushed against the scaffolding of a large wooden platform. “It’s solid.” Similar structures were spaced periodically around the wall, reached by climbing the wooden crosspieces. “They didn’t run out of wood, that’s for sure.”

  “Perhaps it wasn’t meant for defense,” Matias mused.

  “Then what? A lookout? They had up there for that.” He nodded toward the top of the fortress. “There are twelve platforms. Isn’t that a holy number for healers?”

  Matias shrugged. “Either way, a good archer can defend the wall between them.”

  Nathan gave a final pat to the wood. “True. It’s just damn awkward.”

  “Hungry?” Matias’s hand rasped against the grey and white stubble of his chin.

  “Yeah, but not for the slop in the kitchen.” He glanced at his friend. Even when Matias had been a boy, he had the grizzled look of a seasoned fighter. Now the appearance was deserved. They’d fought in the border wars together before King Josiam of Darmis, to the south, married the northern king’s sister and declared peace. Nathan had seen King Leisle’s sister and since the wedding had half expected Josiam to call foul and declare another war, but so far it hadn’t happened.

  He wasn’t alone. The rumors bandied around the kingdom hinted that she must have hidden talents.

  Matias answered Nathan’s grin with one of his own and fell into step. “What chance do we have?”

  “Against an enemy we can’t see until they’re down our throats? I don’t know.”

  “Have you received any word from the king?”

  “Just that viscount.” Nathan nodded a greeting to a few of his men busy reclaiming a large garden that had grown wild but still contained rich, dark earth, surprisingly almost free of stones.

  A trail of smoke snaked up from behind the fortress. The kitchen was a separate wooden structure set a few feet away from the keep, near the barns. Nathan smiled at the irony. He was sure whoever built the kitchen so close to the stables didn’t know that one day it would be a toss-up of which smelled more noxious.

  “Next time you send word to the king, have him send us someone who cooks edible food.”

  Nathan slapped Matias on the back. “I’m sure that’ll be his majesty’s first priority.”

  “Yeah, right after baths and winsome wenches. Come on, I’m starving. Even Cook’s gruel is starting to smell appetizing.”

  The two abandoned houses loomed ahead on either side of the road; the village was close. Every time Selia passed the structures, it seemed they’d shrunk, slowly giving in to the forest that would eventually claim them. Tired, hollow windows surveyed the road with something like despair. A house built so near—but not in the town—was an oddity. Two houses close together was downright strange in the Outskirts, where people prized their privacy. Some said a sect of sun worshippers lived there before forest sprites drove them out.

  Whatever their history, the little houses were the sad and lonely guardians for the southern entrance to the village. When she was young, spending the night in one of the houses was a popular dare. But Oren would never allow her to, and the other children didn’t try to persuade her otherwise. They’d always given Oren, and consequently her, a wide berth.

  In the distance, the village square opened up before her, though to call it a square took a leap of imagination. Of course, to call the place a village was also generous. Seven wooden buildings lined up on either side of a large gnarled oak tree, as though waiting for instructions. The oak was sacred to the villagers and the reason why the first settlers stopped their weary trek and called this place home. Supposedly, it was inhabited by a wood sprite that bestowed wisdom to those who were worthy. In Selia’s lifetime, she didn’t recall anyone having merited the oak’s gift but had seen two thieves killed against its trunk.

  The official name for the area lying between the great North road and the Wastes, and stretching from the mountains in the north to the southern lands, was Calud. But those who dwelt in that land didn’t much care what Inlanders said—they called it the Outskirts. Technically, they were part of King Leisle’s kingdom of Asild, but besides the occasional traveling judge, his rulings neither helped nor hindered their lives. Those living in the Outskirts had their own code of ethics, one which didn’t ask about a person’s past and demanded the same. If you worked hard, didn’t ask for a handout, played a clean game of cards—or at least didn’t win all the time—you were generally accepted and, after a while, became part of the landscape. If you didn’t, justice was swift.

  On the other side of the square, the road continued north until the forest swallowed it. Somewhere along its path lay the White Forest and farther, in the mountains that rose on the horizon, the lands the Svistra called home.

  Plumes of smoke rose over the forest and into the grey sky, betraying other settlers. Only a few actually lived in town. The village was a necessity: a place to trade for anything they couldn’t grow or make themselves. If the settlers wanted company, there was always the tavern.

  The smithy’s fires raged so hot, their warmth brushed her skin as she passed by. The steady ping of metal against metal told her Thom was hard at work. Normally she’d stop to talk to the smith, but today she was anxious to finish her errands and get back home.

  Selia passed the miller’s closed door and waved at Jim. The weaver sat in his doorway across the street with Oberl, the tanner. The tannery was set a distance from the rest of the village, but even so, when the wind blew from the north, it brought with it a trace of the pungent tang of urine as far south as the tavern. Oberl’s son took care of the business now, leaving his father time to gossip.
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  The general store and trading post stood next to a large house with a garden. She waved at Dara, the storekeeper’s wife, who had a baby strapped to her back and another attached to her skirts as she hoed weeds from between long rows of something that might be corn. Selia hurried to tie Jemima to a rail and jumped up the store’s porch and out of sight before Dara cornered her. She wasn’t in the mood to listen to Dara. Abel’s wife was a nice lady but once she began speaking, nothing, save starvation or her husband, could get her to stop.

  Abel looked up as she entered. “Well, hello there, Selia. Been expectin’ you for a while now.”

  “I know. Been busy.”

  “Soldiers?”

  She nodded, handing Abel a list of supplies. He was the only other person in the village who could read.

  He scanned the list. “Got most of that here, but barely. You know the traders haven’t been by since last waning moon.”

  “Really?” She hadn’t noticed, and her inattention frightened her a little.

  “Yup. Last batch of soldiers claimed Svistra slaughtered a caravan on its way to Eagle Rock, and now they won’t come up this far north. If’n it’s true, me and the missus are gonna have to pull up stake and leave.”

  Abel always threatened to leave the village. She didn’t take him seriously this time either. “Is it really that bad?”

  “Reckon I got ‘nuff vegetables and whatnot, but I can’t grow sugar and honey this close to the Wastes, well you know—it’s just not safe.”

  Honey and sugar were some of the supplies the traders brought up from the south. There were plenty of honeybees around, but if you looked closely, some of them had ten legs. Plus you never knew what flowers they visited to make the honey. She’d once seen a bear clawing itself to death after feasting on a honeycomb.

  “It’s been a wet spring, and Tass doesn’t know how good a harvest he’ll have. Dale needs that grain, you know.”

  “So do I. Passed by the mill but didn’t see Dale.”

  “Nope, he’s out at his farm. He’s scared. You know he’s got a brother up north?”

  “Yup.”

  “Well, the Svistra attacked the farm. All dead. They even killed the livestock.” Abel leaned closer. “Selia, you been listening to what those soldiers say?”

  “You know I don’t pay much attention to Inlanders.” Selia smiled, but a stone settled in her stomach.

  “They’re saying there’s gonna be a full-out war ’fore too long, and we’re in the way. Me and the missus, we might just pack up and leave anyhow.”

  Abel sounded more serious than she’d ever heard him. “Go where?”

  “South. As far away from the Svistra as possible.” Abel glanced at the list. “I’ll go fill this for you.” He stopped and turned. “I know you can use all those weapons and such.” He couldn’t quite keep the disapproval from his voice. “But I reckon it’s not safe for you to come into town alone anymore. Next time, bring Oren, okay?” He disappeared behind a curtained doorway without waiting for her response.

  Selia recalled the scare she’d had on the way to the village. It didn’t make sense. If there had been someone or something that had meant her harm, there had been plenty of opportunity for an attack.

  Selia turned her attention to the dusty shelves. The store housed an odd assortment of beads, pots and pans, herbs and pieces of cloth Abel had no doubt bought from Jim. The weaver was a perfectionist and if there was a slight irregularity in his weave, he’d refuse to finish the piece. Abel, however, was glad to have it, and so were the settlers who couldn’t afford to buy fabric directly from Jim.

  The curtain swished and the door banged open at the same time. Selia looked from Abel to Tass, who stood panting in the doorway.

  “What is it? Svistra?” Abel rushed in.

  Tass farmed a piece of land just west of town. He shook his head, his eyes bright with tears. “They took ‘im.”

  “Who took him?” Abel dropped the goods and ran forward to grasp Tass’s arms and shook him.

  “My son, they took my son.”

  “Damn you, who took your son?” Abel screamed.

  Outside, a low rumble sounded in the distance.

  “The soldiers. They’re c-c-coming,” Tass stammered.

  Hoofbeats echoed the staccato of Selia’s heart as it pounded against her ribs. She ran to the porch as twenty or thirty soldiers on horseback slowed to a stop near the oak. One of the soldiers rode his horse out from the rest.

  “By command of King Leisle, all men who are able to hold a sword are ordered to join us to fight the Svistra.”

  Tass moaned low in his throat, staring at the group.

  Selia followed his gaze. Tass’s son, Teagon, Marc and a few others sat in a cart. She blinked. Teagon had just begun to grow facial hair. He wasn’t old enough to fight. The soldiers bore no standard or insignia to prove they represented the king.

  The leader pointed north and a few of his men thundered off. “Together we can defeat the Svistra threat. Alone, you will be slaughtered.”

  “If you take all our men, we’ll be slaughtered anyway,” one of the women called.

  “We’re going north to head them off,” the soldier replied.

  “Who’s your commander, boy?” Oberl shouted.

  A few more horses thundered in from the south. Her limbs went numb. Slung across one of the horses was a large familiar shape. Oren.

  Selia shook off Abel’s hands and ran toward the prone form. “By the gods, if you’ve hurt him.” She reached Oren’s side and touched the blood trailing down his face.

  His eyes fluttered. Relief surged through her limbs.

  Strong hands grasped her arms and pulled her back. “That one had some fight, he did. Must be his woman.”

  The soldiers laughed.

  She struggled to free herself from the man’s grip to no avail. “Let. Him. Go.”

  “I’d be a mite more concerned about yourself right now, missy,” her captor whispered in her ear.

  Selia twisted hard, kneed the man in the groin, and then punched him in the jaw. “I said, let him go.”

  She looked up in time to see the leader’s horse charge, a flash of steel, then darkness.

  PART TWO

  The lamp waits through the long day of neglect for the flame’s kiss in the night.

  Fireflies, Rabindranath Tagore

  Chapter Six

  Something warm pressed against Selia’s lips. She tried to open her eyes, but her eyelids wouldn’t cooperate.

  Pain. I’m alive.

  She was lying somewhere in the dark. She wasn’t sure how she knew that, except the world outside was only slightly less black than the world behind her closed lids. Even that difference hurt. Was I supposed to go into town today? The pain in her head bloomed.

  Selia focused on the steady rhythm of her breathing. She lay on something soft but it didn’t feel like her bed. Why do I hurt so much? Focusing on opening her eyes, she managed to part her eyelashes to see a dark blurry shape standing over her. Where am I?

  “Don’t try to sit up. Drink this.”

  Jaden’s voice? Am I in the barn? Why?

  Oren!

  A firm hand pressed her back onto the bed as the world tilted. Her stomach heaved. Jaden is in the house! Her heart sped.

  The pressure from the hand was suddenly gone. Selia blinked, but she could still see the blurry form before her. He’d come for them. She was going to die.

  The thought of her imminent death didn’t affect her the way she’d thought it should. It wasn’t possible to hurt any more than she already did. Besides, Jaden was kind. He’d make it gentle. Obediently she drank the liquid he offered, already welcoming the approach of oblivion.

  “Who’s Jaden?” a high reedy voice asked.

  “Probably someone from one o’ her books.” A deeper voice.

  Selia blinked and struggled against the darkness holding her bound. Her head throbbed with the effort.

  “No use, Selia.” Abel’s
voice. “That’s a nasty one. I reckon’ you’re lucky to be alive.”

  Someone moaned. A cool hand brushed her forehead.

  “Rest now, it’ll be okay.”

  It’s me, I’m moaning.

  She fought to open her eyes but when she did, the world didn’t look like it should. The colors were too bright, the angles wrong.

  Her stomach heaved.

  “Get her the bucket.” Another voice, firmer. Martha.

  “I’ll stay with her now. You two have things to tend.”

  Selia retched into the proffered bucket. She wished her head would just explode and release her from the pain.

  “Not much left. The soldiers took everything.” Abel’s voice came from everywhere.

  “Thank the gods the boys are too young to—” Dara’s voice broke.

  Selia hung her head and let Martha guide it back to the pillow. “Oren?” It took a great effort to speak. She didn’t recognize the croaked word as her voice.

  “Go now,” Martha insisted. “You’ll only upset her. She needs to rest.”

  Why wouldn’t they answer her? Something moist and cool touched her forehead. A soothing hum filled the air, a noise she’d never before associated with Martha. And then the world once again faded to black.

  It was a dream. It had to be. Selia closed her eyes and reopened them, but Jaden’s face didn’t fade from view. Jaden’s face in her room? No. This wasn’t her room. Where was she? Moonlight filtered through an open window, but the curtains caught it, folding and trapping the light. She knew this place. She looked up at him, realizing she should probably be afraid but couldn’t remember why.

  “Drink this.” He held her head firmly, a cup pressed to her lips.

  She opened her mouth and swallowed a vile-tasting liquid. If nothing else was real, this was. “What is it?” she croaked.

  “Just drink.”

  She closed her eyes and finished the contents of the cup. Jaden was a Svistra; that’s why she should be afraid. He withdrew the cup. Fabric rustled, and a low buzzing noise sounded in the distance.