I don’t want to let him or my sister go.
“I will find a way so you do not have to let us go.” He meets my eyes, for only a moment, then he looks at Tristan. “How far away are the daemons, and how many are there?”
Tarik steps forward, a look of relief on his face. “That is what the boy failed to tell you. Shameful how young your fighters are, Leader Maher.”
Arland stops and drops any pretense of friendliness, kneeling beside the man. “Shameful would be not to have fighters at all, Bheagan. Would you prefer we lay down our weapons and die—?”
“Thank you, sir.” Tristan closes his eyes. “Ailos says he is happy you have returned. Tarik here has treated everyone with an utter lack of respect.”
I tilt my head to the side. “Who’s Ailo—?”
“He merely points out the obvious.” Vanora struts out of the cover of the trees, three men about the same size as Tarik gliding next to her. For being as small as they are, they move with power and grace. “However, Tristan’s service is not shameful, rather his training.”
The Bheagans snicker and all rush off toward the fire. Grumpy follows.
“Why, Arland and Katriona, come back to join in on the fun?” She’s changed, too. Not nearly as afraid of everything that moves, not nearly as nervous with a sword. Vanora slides a bloody blade through a leather hook attached to her belt. “Or were you checking in to see if we had all died so you could go back to wherever you have been?”
“Can it, Vanora. You may be of Leader blood, but you cannot talk to Arland or Kate that way. Unless you wish to die.” Flanna snorts, rolling her blue eyes. “Considering how upset you become when you are around Perth, maybe death is the outcome you are hoping for tonight?”
Vanora’s lip quivers, but she turns up her chin and storms off to sit by the fire.
“Serves her right.” My redheaded friend shakes her head. “The woman punched Perth when he and Rhoswen returned from Mhara—”
Speaking of Perth … . “Where are Perth and Rhoswen?”
Tristan coughs, lurching forward with a big grin on his face. He’s covering up a laugh.
Propping her hands on her hips, Flanna joins in with him. “Probably off staring into each other’s eyes.”
“Staring into each other’s eyes?” The last time I checked, Perth couldn’t care less about Rhoswen. Now he’s … . “What do you mean?”
“Apparently the two are in love, but do not tell them this. They will deny it until the end of their days.” This time, Tristan doesn’t try to hide the humor. He doubles over with fits of giggles, like a schoolgirl, diminishing some of the hardness he formed while we were gone.
“Enough,” Arland commands, voice loud and firm, bringing the attention of everyone upon us. He turns around, facing the roaring fire surrounded by stunned Bheagan men. “Vanora, leave the people of Draodín and go find Perth and Rhoswen. Bring them to me. Tristan, I spoke with Brice earlier. Where is he?”
Tristan’s cheeks turn white, the humor draining from his face. “He and Saidear are setting up the wards so the daemons go where we want.”
Arland turns on his heel. “And where is that?”
“The wheat fields between the Baccain Forest and The Meadows.”
Arland nods. “Speak to him. Allow Brice to finish, but make sure they come right back here.”
“Yes, sir.” Tristan trots over to the group of Mharans, then they huddle together in conversation.
“Listen up”—Arland marches toward the center of our small clearing, commanding everyone’s attention near the fire—”You are worn, you are tired, and you have fought bravely, but this war is not yet over … .”
Soldiers file out of the mouth of the cave. Making their way over the rocks and the path, they take seats on the ground around him. Gary and Mr. Tanner stand on either side of me, and my sister walks over then sits by my feet, wrapped up in a blanket, looking like she just got up from a nap and not her deathbed.
“We have been gone a long time while you have fought and lost lives, and for that we have little explanation. However, with the plans of our own brothers and sisters, and with the unity of all the worlds, we can defeat this army.”
Everyone watches him, following his hands as he waves them through the air, staring at his boots wearing divots into the earth. Arland walks up to Cadman, holding his gaze with compassion, frustration, and gentleness all somehow worked into his features. “This forest has provided safety while we were gone, yes?”
“Much safety, sir.”
Arland clasps his hands behind his back. “Good. We will divide everyone into two groups, though this decision will be easy. Saidear, Tristan, Flanna, Cadman, Brit, Perth, Kate, and I will show ourselves in the wheat fields. There is a bald spot in the center, covered by flat stones. That is where we will go, but everyone else will need to take cover in the forest. Will the leaders from Mhara, Gaoth, Draodín, and Ollmhor please meet with me to discuss the rest of the plan?”
Tarik and Huffie leave their seats and join Arland, then they form a small circle while everyone else sets to quiet chattering. An orange man with black looping tattoos covering his squared face and arms steps away from the trees, glances at me, then stands with the others.
“Where is the leader of the Gaothans? Where are the Gaothans?” I mutter to no one in particular.
The dry leaves on the trees rustle, blowing around in a sudden gust of wind. My hair whips in my face, as does the stench of death, turning my stomach. Rot. An absolutely horrific, sulfuric smell.
Many of the soldiers moan and clutch their abdomens.
“What is that?” Mr. Tanner asks, covering his nose.
Gary slaps his shoulder, not even trying to hide from the smell. “Death. This world is at war. I’m guessing no one is taking time to bury bodies.”
Brit snorts and leans against my legs. “If you knew what we’re fighting, you would understand why.”
“Judging by the odd assortment of people gathered here, I can imagine what the daemons … . Does that fish-looking man have gills on his neck?”
The Mharan stares our way for a moment, chuckles, then returns to his conversation with Arland, the leader’s shoulder-length dreadlocks falling around his face.
My hair whips in front of my eyes, reminding me about the strange wind that has rarely been a factor in Encardia. Dughbal’s Darkness blots out the sun as well as the weather, but why does it seem I’m the only one bothered by the change in current? Arland hasn’t moved from his conversation, aside from occasionally making eye contact with me. The Bheagans sit and watch. The few Mharans who were with Tristan walk by my small group and then take places around the other soldiers.
“Gaothans are invisible, Kate,” Brit thinks. “They are air. Very hard to communicate with, but quite nice. Their world is beautiful, all bright sunshine and fields of wildflowers. We didn’t want to leave. I don’t think they wanted to come with us, either. They’ve been disgusted with the smell, too. According to Quilos, these odors attach to them. They will be permanently scarred by helping us—assuming they live; although I’m not sure how they die in the first place.”
“Oh.” No wonder everyone is at ease; they’ve experienced the Gaothans for two months.
Arland motions for me to join them, and everyone stares as I cross the cleared area. My palms sweat, but I’m not sure why. I’ve been in charge of most of these people for a long time. I’ve fought with them, died by them, and stood up to the most feared Leader of Encardia.
I’ve also been gone for a while … .
A silence falls over the crowd. The short men from Draodín and their large counterparts from Ollmhor huddle together and point. Most of them scowl in my direction. They must think of me and Arland as deserters. They’ve never witnessed us in battle or watched us orchestrate a lie involving at least fifty people in order to unite our government … .
“Huffie and Tarik, you have both met my bhean chéile, but Quilos and Humu, you have not,” Arland says ho
lding out his arm.
I slide into his embrace and then offer my hand to the orange man. “Nice to meet you … ?”
“Humu.” He considers my hand for a moment, takes it into his, places his lips on my knuckles, then kisses. “Nice to meet you, Kate. Perth and Rhoswen both spoke highly of you.”
A breeze zips around me, calm and sweet, but tinted with a scent of musk, similar to the smell of an old folk’s home. Maybe this is what Brit meant about the war scarring them. “Your sister and Tristan spoke volumes of your bravery.” I’m not sure if the woman spoke the words aloud or if she’s connected with me. If a room full of people clinked their silverware against a glass, that is how I’d describe her voice. “I am Quilos. Only one person can hear me at a time. I choose you to speak to them for me. Is that agreeable?”
I nod; I’m not sure how else to respond. Do I speak or think?
“Think, Kate.”
My hair drifts off my shoulders, tickling me every so often with a stray strand.
“Watch my Mharan counterpart, Kate. I do not trust him.” The air around me warms, intensifying with her emotions. “Ailos, my army’s leader, said Humu has already run away from many battles.”
“I understand.”
“Kate”—Arland takes my hand, increasing our connection. I have no doubt he’ll be able to hear anything Quilos says to me—”we were just discussing how to bring Dughbal out of hiding.”
I squeeze his fingers, once again memorizing the feel of his worn skin on mine. “We’ll have to separate.”
“My presence keeps Dughbal’s apparition away, but how will we know if he is in his true form? He has touched you, hurt you, when he was merely particles floating in our room—”
“At this point, Arland, does it matter? We know I have to face him, and we know you can’t be around me in order for him to present himself. We now know that we don’t have to be very far from one another in order for him to show up … I have to do this.” My face burns. I know I’m right. No matter what, I have to give up my protector and allow Dughbal to find me. Our battle is the only way Encardia will survive.
The other leaders nod approvingly.
“These are honorable words, Kate,” Quilos says, gusting around my hand linked with Arland’s. “But your mate cares for you, so he fears for you. I appreciate the depth of emotions I feel flowing between your souls. The two of you should know my people will do everything in their power to protect you while your Arland cannot. Too many lives have been sacrificed in this world. We owe Encardia the aid.”
“Thank you,” Arland and I echo together, a smile lighting his eyes.
I knew he’d be able to hear her.
“You may share my words with the others.”
I nearly forgot others were here. Quilos may be invisible, but she is so kind, so captivating. She far outshines the Ollmhorans, Draodíns, and Mharans, and I can’t even see her. They stare at us, waiting, maybe bored, and I sense a little agitation.
This is not their war.
“Quilos has offered aid to protect me in the battle against Dughbal. Will you help us?”
The three men exchange glances.
Huffie steps forward, pushing the others away with his overbearing presence. “My brothers and sisters will not fight in the trap. We lost too many.” He sighs, slumping his broad shoulders. “But I will help you while they fight in the forest. When god is killed, they will join in the fields.”
Arland tugs me closer to him, excitement and fear and frustration and so many emotions rushing through him. “Tarik?”
Tarik rakes his fingers through his wiry beard. “We do love a good brawl, but I cannot risk any more. Many of my men want to leave; I will not force them to fight, but I will join you.”
Humu takes another step back, turning his head from side to side. “Why should we trust that you will be able to win this war? Why should we risk any more lives?”
Arland was right; Mharans are opportunistic. Humu wants to survive, and who can blame him? But what will happen when Dughbal moves on from Encardia? What will happen when he wants to destroy Mhara or Ollmhor or Draodín? Is this man foolish enough to believe he’s safe? I let go of Arland and ball my fists at my sides. “You don’t have to trust us—at all—but you should help us fight.”
Flames flicker on my fingers then shoot up my arms, securing me in my rage. I step toward Humu, staring at his frightened black eyes as they flick from me to those standing behind me. “If you allow Dughbal to kill us, what makes you think he won’t come for you next?”
My Coimeádaí places his hands on my shoulders and his mouth by my ear, calming me instantly with his warmth, but my fire doesn’t go away. Not yet.
“Save your energy for the battle,” Arland whispers against my skin.
Taking steady breaths, I nod and work to regain my composure. “You’re right. Why should I waste energy on someone who cares so little for life?”
“It is because I value life that I do not wish to go to war, but you made a very accurate point.” The Mharan rubs his webbed hand over his head. “I wish to send my military home, but I will stay … only until Dughbal is finished. No longer.”
“That is more than enough,” Arland says.
Tarik glances in the direction of my family. “And what of the humans?”
Gary and I meet eyes. He’s accepted all of this well, but if he’s anything like Brad, none of this should make sense to him. Yet he’s seen my fire, understood the death going on around him, hasn’t run off screaming into the forest because there are a bunch of crazy mythological beings around him. Honestly, he’s accepted this all pretty much the same way as me.
My stepdad lifts my sister to her feet, grabs Mr. Tanner by the biceps, then drags them over to us—without me asking as much. Gary releases Brit and Mr. Tanner, then crosses his arms over his chest. “This one wants to know if we’ll help?”
Tarik narrows his cold eyes. “I doubt you will be of much use, but yes, will you put your life on the line with the rest of us?”
Gary smiles, indignantly. “Without even a drop of the hesitation the three of you so carelessly toss around.”
I bite back a laugh. Gary is nothing if not proud. Working a struggling horse farm his whole life, he’s learned to never back down from a challenge.
“What about the horses? What if something happens to you and all the animals are left to die? What if something happens to the rest of us?” Brit asks, eyes wide with panic.
“Your sister left a girl there to care for the farm.” He turns to her and pulls Brit into a big hug. “Hopefully we’ll all be able to return home someday. Kate wanted to run that farm … .”
That dream seems like another lifetime, another girl, but a deep part of me still longs for that farm, longs to care for the animals. But how can I be there and here? How can I be a Leader of Encardia, a horse farmer on Earth, and still have time to be with Arland?
“You left Muriel behind?” Vanora calls, walking out of the black forest, Perth and Rhoswen beside her.
The two maintain an awkward distance; their faces are red, and their scowling eyes betray quite a bit of anger. I wonder what they were doing … ?
Tristan and Brice appear next, and Vanora’s annoying comment falls into oblivion. There’s no time for her petulance.
Brice rushes right up to us, puts his fist over his heart and then sighs. “They should be here tomorrow. I have posted four Goathans in the forest. They will ensure the daemons pass through the quickest path to the fields. We should move in the morning.”
Nodding, Arland glances around. “We should rest,” he says, raising his voice to include the crowd in this conversation, “In the morning, we split up. The Mharans will return home tonight, excluding their leader. The Morans and Bheagans will stay, but you will remain covered in the forest until all the daemons approach those inside the trap. Huffie, Tarik, Quilos, and Humu will stand with us … .”
Most of the Mharans jump to their feet, gathering around in
a small group of multi-colored individuals. Jerks.
“Let them go, Kate,” Quilos whispers around me, vibrating my skin. “I feel safer knowing they are on their way out.”
Arland grabs my hand. “Make plans with your leaders, then spend time with those you love this evening. Tomorrow we fight.”
He leads us into the cave and to a back, dark corner, then we sit down on a wool blanket, leaving everyone else to their own devices for the night. I’m not sure if the others will consider our actions an act of Leadership or a lack thereof, but I don’t care. This war promises to steal life from people I love; there are too many involved for anything to occur otherwise.
I curl into him and listen to his heart race. I won’t cry, or at least I don’t want to cry. “My chest hurts.”
Arland’s heart skips a few beats, then levels out. “Fear.”
“Please, don’t die.” My chin quivers, and I clench my teeth to hold back the emotions.
He runs his hand up and down my side, sending that much more sorrow through me. “I will try my best.”
What more can I ask?
We remain in utter silence as everyone else files into the cave and finds a place to rest. Eventually we stop squeezing each other like these moments are our last and fall asleep.
Chapter Sixteen
Cupping my hand over my mouth and nose, I draw in a slow, ragged breath. The stench in this cave is too much, but outside isn’t much better. When I called to the sprites earlier, I forgot to request they bring an air freshener.
I’m hungry but afraid anything I eat will come right back up. The putrid smells of rotting vegetation, daemon carcasses, and human remains do not make a good accompaniment to dinner.
Not that we have any.
Arland and I are curled into a ball on our thin, itchy blankets. The crackling fire in the middle of the cave sends plumes of gray smoke through the small opening above our heads and warms my arms.
I reach out for the sun, but it’s still well below the horizon. Not quite time for war.
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