The Shattering of the Spirit-Sword Brackish 1

by Sam Farren

  Eos’ eyes fixed on Castelle’s, but her hand was moving to the source of all suffering. Castelle’s teeth chattered together, sweat drenched her, and she waited for the shock to make sense of this all.

  Don’t look. Don’t look.

  Eos was the first one to glance away. She needed to see the circle of steel, the jaws with its offset teeth, to release it. Castelle’s eyes followed, and even through the long grass and her dark breeches, she saw the blood. Her leather boots hadn’t protected her from the jagged metal teeth.

  The trap had sprung halfway up her shin, embedded in bone like tree roots in the dirt.

  “Princess, don’t look,” Eos said, hand on Castelle’s face, pushing her away. “This will hurt. I am sorry, Princess, but I have to move you.”

  Castelle couldn’t breathe. Eos’ fingers left trails of her own blood on her face, still warm, and the bear trap groaned as Eos gripped it, fighting to open it without springing the trap again.

  Eos grunted. The metal struggled to latch onto something, anything, again, and Eos used her foot to push Castelle’s leg free. The pain flared, then fell to nothing. Pain lost meaning when Castelle could look down and see flecks of her own bone through ravines in her flesh.

  Eos heaved. The trap thudded against the ground feet away, snapping shut and trapping nothing but air.

  It was gone. Castelle was free, but her leg was in splinters, and the rest of her was only held together by the blood that seeped from her leg. She rolled onto her side, face pressed to the dirt, and clasped a hand over her mouth to muffle the shrieks.

  There was the pain.

  There would be no end to it because there was no beginning; it could not course through her as it did without having always been there. Was this what her family had endured? Was this all Edward was, even in death? Was this why their spirits could not linger?

  Castelle sobbed into the dirt. Eos stretched out her leg, cut back her breeches, and wrapped a length of cloth as tightly as she could around the wounds.

  Why was Eos helping her? Why did it matter? They couldn’t run, now. Her fathers would catch up to them, would have someone take her home, and their lies would be as nothing. Not if they released her from this. She could return to the temple, could continue to be the last Princess of Fenroe, the heir to the archipelago, the future Queen of a Kingdom that longed for her.

  What did their lies matter? They had kept her safe. It had all been for her, for her and the Kingdom. It hadn’t been to silence her. To keep her still. To trap her within a forest full of spirits that would not fight for her, that they might be her only connection to the outside world, that they might continue to live as Lords in a world where the nobility had been executed in their bedchambers, in city squares.

  Gods.

  She had nowhere to go.

  Nowhere.

  “Stop it,” she heard herself sob. “Stop it, Eos. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. Leave me alone!”

  “Princess. Your wounds are severe,” Eos said. “You are at risk of bleeding out.”

  “Good!” Castelle cried. “Good! Let it come. Gods. You are unspeakably cruel, Eos. You are—you are not an assassin. What good are you to me? I wish you had been! I wish you had never brought me out here, into this world that is not mine. I wish you were an assassin. I wish you’d finish the job! I wish, I wish—”

  “This will pass,” Eos said. “I know someone, not far from here. She will take care of you. You are going to be alright, Princess.”

  “I don’t want to be!” Castelle said. “I want—I want my mother. I want my mother, but I… I have no one. No one, my family, they…”

  Eos pulled the cloth tighter. Castelle thrashed in the grass, body refusing her pleas to keep still.

  “Layla,” Eos said.

  The raging in Castelle’s head fell quiet, if the pain did not.

  “Layla,” Eos repeated. “We are friends. That is how I knew about Brackish, and where to find her. That is how I managed to abduct you. I am sorry that I am no assassin, Princess, but I was sent by your cousin Layla.”

  Castelle turned from the dirt to catch Eos’ eye. Her chest ached worse than her leg.

  “Layla is dead,” she whispered.

  “You never saw her head,” Eos said, hand ghosting over her shoulder. “Your fathers only showed you the body.”

  It was a lie. Another lie. All anyone had told Castelle her entire life was lies to placate her, and this was another of them. This was the cruellest of all.

  Layla was dead. The rebels had sent her body back to the temple to taunt her, taking credit for the bandits’ handiwork. It had been a horrible, mangled thing, wrapped in water-logged cloth, mutilated beyond recognition, black fingertips barely visible through the dirt and blood.

  “You are not alone, Princess. You have your cousin. Please, let me take you to her. Let me help you,” Eos said.

  Blood loss had exhausted Castelle and tears had worn down the rest. Let Eos lie. Castelle closed her eyes, letting the pain wash over her, and remembered the way Layla would sneak into the forest, or down below the main part of the temple, where the statues of the gods had been hidden for centuries.

  She had always been trying to escape, had always been a salve to the reverence with which her fathers spoke of vengeance.

  Layla had always been there. Five years older, but ever her best friend. She was there when Castelle escaped the castle, then Caelfal, and she was there in the temple.

  She was there as Castelle laid in the dirt, shock keeping her body still, bloody, broken leg wrapped in the cloth Eos had packed their food in.

  Castelle had no recollection of being lifted from the ground, but the sky swayed above, body disconnected from the dirt. Eos was strong, but not so strong carrying an entire person didn’t take a toll on her. Hours or days flashed past as slivers of the sky overhead, grey, then blue, then grey, grey, grey, branches spreading like hands that would claw after them.

  Burning the bridge was for nothing.

  Castelle burrowed into Eos’ chest, no longer caring to cling to consciousness. It’d been a lifetime since she slept so well. The pain was kind. It could’ve kept her awake endlessly, could’ve had her howling its name, but it settled for merely sapping the strength from her.

  Eos’ breathing was short and stuttered. She took breaks she couldn’t afford to, and her fingertips dug into Castelle’s side, her leg. Castelle couldn’t claw together the words to ask where they were going, but salt grew thicker in the air, and distant winds crashed against the cliffs.

  Something wet and heavy clung to her.

  The makeshift bandage wouldn’t keep everything in for long.

  “Here,” Eos murmured. “Almost. A little longer, Princess.”

  They had come to a village of distant parts, built into a hillside. The scattered houses were hidden by their turf-topped roofs, and sheep roamed freely through the hills and villages alike, some grazing atop people’s homes. A tall cliff rose in the north, sending a clockwork shadow across the land, and migratory birds gathered along the cracks and ledges, building fleeting homes for themselves.

  Eos had veered from the centre of the island, towards the coast. Gulls cried. The waves were still distant, for Llyne was a ring of basalt in all but the south, yet the ocean spray seemed to reach them.

  That was good. It felt right. Castelle wouldn’t slip away from herself, so long as the ocean salt kept her tethered to the land.

  Something pounded against wood. Castelle blinked her eyes open. Eos kicked again, sound closer to pleading, this time. It wasn’t the cliff’s shadow that cast darkness upon them, but the front of a house, sprung from the dirt.

  “I’m coming, I’m coming,” a woman’s voice called, ringing with something far from irritation. “You don’t need to break the door down!”

  Wood creaked. Castelle’s eyes rolled closed.

  Eos held her tighter, and the woman said, “Eos? What in the gods’ names have you done? No, no—never mind that.
Get the poor girl inside. Now.”

  Shuffling. Boots on bare floorboards. Things being swept from surfaces.

  The house was small and low, but not cramped in the way the temple Eos had left the fox in had been. Lanterns lined the walls, interspersed with blurry shapes that might’ve been paintings or tapestries, had Castelle’s eyes cooperated with her.

  Eos finally released her. Castelle’s back pressed against something solid. A table? The floor. A lantern was held over her, and the woman muttered, “A bear trap? You know to look out for those, Eos. Go, go—get my kit. We don’t have much time to fight off an infection.”

  The woman leant over her. Castelle blinked, blinked again, but it still wasn’t Layla. The woman was too old for that, in her forties, with skin far too pale. She was beautiful, beautiful, but she wasn’t Layla.

  Castelle groaned. The woman smiled, brief but warm, and pressed a hand to her face.

  Layla would’ve done the same.

  That was enough.

  “Don’t worry, honey. I’m going to get you fixed up. I’ve seen plenty in a worse state than you.”

  The bandages were pulled away. Water hit her skin, venom on open wounds, and Castelle writhed on the table.

  “It’s okay. It’s okay. We’re just cleaning it out. I’m Reed. I’m a doctor, honey. What’s your name?”

  “I’m—I…” Castelle tried.

  “Hey, hey. Don’t strain yourself. You can tell me later, okay?” the woman said, disappearing from view. “You know where the opium is, Eos. We’re going to need a lot of it.”

  More shuffling. Rummaging. Water pressed to her lips, then something stronger. Metal clattered against wood, against itself. The light flickered without fading, the shadows of a stranger crossed the room, and Castelle couldn’t lift a finger.

  She couldn’t fight this. Didn’t want to. The pain washed away, or didn’t. It was there, she felt it as keenly as ever, but didn’t care. Let it take her. Let any of this try to be the end of her. If Layla were alive, this would not stop her. If Layla was alive, if Layla had sent for her, then she was supposed to see her again.

  This wouldn’t stop her. Not the bear trap, not Eos, not the stranger with her fingers in her wounds.

  This wouldn’t stop her. This wouldn’t stop her.

  The world had tried time and time again, and she was still there.

  Castelle awoke in a sweat, draped in clothing without a speck of dirt or blood on it, back pressed to something softer than a table, or the floor. A bed. A bed! She was in a real bed, and her disconnect with her surroundings and the dark sky beyond the window said more than a few hours had passed.

  Castelle shifted, blankets near enough pinning her down, but couldn’t move her leg to free it. It was all there at the forefront of her mind: the bear trap, the village engulfed in a cliff’s shadow, surgery on someone’s kitchen table. It was all there, and though the pain did its utmost to drag her into the past, she couldn’t dwell on it.

  They’d stopped moving. Her fathers’ people would catch up with them in short days, and no matter how small and spread out the settlement was, it was hard to miss someone being carried in a Yrician’s arms, bear trap’s bite mark encircling their leg.

  They had to move. Layla was alive! Layla was alive, and Castelle didn’t care if it was a lie. Something had sparked within her, a force she didn’t understand but wanted desperately to harness, and the abrupt denial of death made her willing to follow Eos to the ends of the archipelago, the ends of the earth.

  Groaning, she reached under the blankets.

  A splint had been tied to her right leg.

  Water and a crust of bread were left on a low bedside table, along with a small vial with the word MEDICINE inked across it.

  Castelle snatched it before the pain had the chance to catch up with her.

  She shuffled onto her side, but couldn’t make out enough of the room to plan her escape in the dim evening light. There had to be something she could cling to and drag herself along with, something she could use to prop herself up.

  Reed’s voice cut her attempt short.

  “You really are in trouble this time, Eos,” she said. There was little privacy to be found in village cottages. “Castelle Greyser? What were you thinking?”

  “You know me,” Eos droned.

  Had every muscle in Castelle’s body not been pulled taut, she might’ve laughed at the implication.

  Reed sighed. It wasn’t a joke to her.

  She really did know Eos.

  “Why must you always be the hero, Eos? Why can you not keep your head down and stay out of political intrigue?” she chided.

  Eos shrugged. Castelle heard it in the silence that followed.

  “Oh, I’ll get it out of you yet,” Reed said. “You know you’re always welcome here, Eos. It’s going to take a long time for the Princess’ leg to heal. You need to make sure she’s safe here. That you haven’t been followed.”

  “You won’t turn her in?”

  “Gods, no. They’ll do worse to the poor girl than a dozen bear traps.”

  Another long silence. Eos didn’t thank Reed, didn’t say a word.

  “You don’t look much better than she did. Have you been sleeping, Eos? Eating enough? At least get some rest now. There’s little you can do, till morning, and it’s best you keep your head down for a while,” Reed said. “The neighbours won’t think it’s strange to see you, but if someone comes around, asking after a scarred Yrician, they’re going to get a lot of hands pointing them in the right direction.”

  Eos grunted. Something rustled, and Reed said, “Don’t make that face at me. Come on. You know where my bed is. With the gods as my witness, Eos, if you don’t take this chance to rest, I might just turn you over to the Lords myself.”

  Reed’s feet shuffled across the floorboards. Eos didn’t argue. Castelle sunk back into the bed, losing herself to the night, to the throbbing in her leg.

  She awoke with Reed sat at the foot of the bed, covers cast aside, leg propped in her lap. Castelle started but didn’t get far. She clung to the bedsheets, and managed a dignified, “Um?”

  “Morning, honey,” Reed said. “Didn’t mean to disturb you. You’ve slept through your last few bandage changes.”

  “Bandage changes?” Castelle said, pressing her tongue to the back of her teeth. Never had her mouth been so dry. “How many? How long have I been here?”

  “A little over a week,” Reed said, smiling to soften it.

  “A week? That can’t be right, I’ve…”

  “You’ve been on a lot of opium. Plus, with what Eos has put you through, I wasn’t expecting you to wake for at least a month,” Reed said, unwinding the bandages. “Eyes on me, honey. You don’t want to see this. Not yet.”

  Swallowing the lump in her throat, Castelle stared at the ceiling. A week. She’d been there for a week and was still safe. No amount of pain or opium could make her sleep through a door being knocked down.

  Reed knew who she was, knew her by name and title, but hadn’t turned her in. Word would’ve spread across Llyne, by now. Across the other islands, too. She spoke to Eos with a fondness that said she knew more of her than Castelle could ever fathom, yet she treated Castelle like a patient, not a Greyser.

  “I’m sorry,” Castelle managed. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”

  “Now, now. You’re the one suffering this, not me. And let me tell you, this isn’t my first time patching someone up like this,” Reed said, cleaning the wound with little warning. Castelle tensed, but Reed kept the pressure firm, till the pain was a buzz in the background. “You had no idea what was out in that forest. I’ve had to deal with folks who have spent their entire lives in this village getting themselves into the same situation, despite knowing exactly where not to tread. Now, Castelle—can I call you that?”

  “Please. I can’t hear the word Princess again.”

  “Too right. That’s because you aren’t a Princess. We don’t have a Princess, an
ymore. No monarchy, no nobility. That’s a thing of the past. Eos tells me you’re only just getting used to that. Bet she didn’t make it easy for you, did she?”

  Castelle shook her head.

  “Yeah, that’s Eos. Don’t take it too personally, alright? She tries,” Reed said, pulling a clean cloth from a bowl of warm water. “But you’re not a Princess anymore, Castelle. You’re free of all that. You get to be who you want to. Get to do what you want. If you don’t want to follow Eos, you don’t have to. Don’t let her rope you into anything, honey. Kidnapping. Gods! She knows better than that.”

  For the first time in forever, a laugh escaped Castelle’s lungs.

  “But remember this, Castelle. You’re going to have to do something, with or without Eos. The people of Fenroe survived one war. They don’t want another. Not on account of someone who was a child at the time.”

  Reed reached over the bed, squeezing Castelle’s hand.

  Castelle held her breath. Reed’s words were not cutting, not cruel, but they woke her up to the reality opium numbed her against, and Eos’ blunt words had deafened her to.

  She wasn’t the Princess of Fenroe.

  She was a reminder of all that had befallen it.

  Her head didn’t need to be on a pike to send a message.

  “Now, that’s that. I think we’ve avoided an infection,” Reed said, tying the splint back into place. “Let’s worry about this bone healing, first.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Days collapsed into one another. The notion that everything between Laister Forest and the hills of Llyne happened in a fraction of the time Castelle spent in bed, staring at the walls, drifting in and out of fitful sleep, was absurd.

  Reed came and went, alternating between offerings of food and clean bandages, and was always delighted to announce there were no signs of infection. She chatted without expecting much conversation in return, and always said enough about Eos for Castelle know she hadn’t gone far.

  She hadn’t shown her face, either.

  Castelle heard her through the walls, keeping herself busy. Furniture was moved, cupboards were emptied, floors were scrubbed and swept. Reed insisted that Eos didn’t need to go to all that trouble, that she should just rest, but oh, the house hadn’t looked so clean in years. Eos didn’t say much in return. Anything of importance was shared in the Yrician language and Reed always sighed afterwards.