The Shattering of the Spirit-Sword Brackish 1
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She didn’t know who Svir was or why Eos and Reed had been stirred to action by the sight of her, but she didn’t get to ask. She never had a say in where they were going, or why. Eos was lucky that Castelle had softened to her words, that she’d opened herself to the possibility of truth spreading across the archipelago.
She might not be a Princess, but she was still a Greyser. Her name still meant something to the land, to the people upon it. It still meant something to Brackish, thrumming beneath cloth and twine, reaching out to her.
What good was following Eos? What had it got her, other than a broken leg? Brackish was the one who knew the way, who knew her family. It was Brackish who’d been kept in a box for all those years, Brackish who reached out to her with her tethered spirit.
If Fenroe wasn’t her birthright, Brackish was. Her mother had gone to unimaginable lengths to keep the true sword a secret, had made a performance of it, had brought a Kingdom to kneel with a blade that was nothing but steel and silence. There had to be a reason for that. There had to be something within Brackish her mother wanted her to understand, something that was owed to her.
Castelle reached out, fingers grazing Eos’ bag. The sword burnt brighter, fabric warm to the touch, and Eos glanced over her shoulder.
Castelle snatched her hand back and the light faded.
Layla. Layla.
Eos was taking her to Layla. That was why Castelle was following her out the door in the dead of night, leg broken, heart pounding. That’s what this was all for, and she would endure it over and over, if it meant seeing her cousin’s face again.
“The rain has to let up, eventually. Come on, honey,” Reed said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “It’s the best cover you’re going to get. And don’t go worrying about that leg of yours. The moment you step out of that door, adrenaline’s going to do the rest. Well. Adrenaline will do some, this’ll do the bulk of it.”
Reed pressed a small parcel into her hand.
Opiates to drive out the pain.
Castelle looked up at her, and it didn’t matter that Reed had been with the rebels in the castle. So many had. All that mattered was how unfair it was. Castelle had someone to ask the questions that’d been burning inside of her for years, had someone who’d do more than squeeze her shoulder and shrug her off, but she was being denied the opportunity.
They would’ve cleared the castle. Until now, that had never occurred to her. She knew the rebels had put her family’s heads on pikes, but there was the ordinary work of dragging the bodies out of the dining hall, mopping the blood from the floors, the furniture, the walls; it was surprising where it ended up.
Castelle’s family hadn’t been left there. They hadn’t been shut away, forgotten by all as their bones disintegrated into the stone of the floor, binding them for all time. If there was a grave, it was unmarked.
Reed saw the questions rush behind Castelle’s eyes. She squeezed her arm, before pulling her close.
“I’m sorry, honey. Maybe I should’ve told you. Maybe you had no right to expect me to tell you,” Reed said, holding her close. “But it was a long, long time ago, and I did what I had to. What was right. I’ll tell you everything, next time I see you. I promise you, honey.”
Words no longer meant a thing. It’d been so long since someone had held her and meant it, since someone had taken her into their arms as anything but a show. Father Damir was never one for affection and Father Ira was always too forthcoming with his embraces, smothering all of Castelle’s worries in one fell swoop.
Reed held her close. She didn’t have to. There was no one to impress, nothing to press upon Castelle. Castelle gripped the back of her shirt and Reed understood why she shook. Urgency died a brief death, and Reed pressed her nose to the top of Castelle’s head.
Whatever she’d done, Reed had done the right thing.
Of course she had.
“Thank you,” Castelle murmured. “Thank you for everything you’ve done.”
“I’m a doctor. I don’t get to pick my patients, honey. Especially not when Eos drops them on my kitchen floor,” Reed said, leaning back and patting her cheek. “You take those painkillers before you get going and look after Eos for me, you hear?”
Nodding, Castelle took the pills, bitter taste scraping the back of her throat.
“Come,” Eos said.
Without turning to Reed, she said something short and steady in Yrician.
Sighing, Reed said, “Always the same with you. Go on. Don’t leave it years, this time.”
Brackish’s light fell flat as they stepped out into the night. The rest of the village was gone, impossible to discern in the dark, and Reed extinguished all the lights within her cottage. Svir could lurk downhill, if she pleased. No matter how she’d riled Reed and Eos up, she couldn’t see in the dark.
“This will be the worst of it,” Eos said, pulling her hood up against the rain. “The land flattens, after this.”
Castelle couldn’t respond. She couldn’t offer to take one of Eos’ bags, couldn’t ask how long they’d be travelling for, couldn’t ask to grip Eos’ arm. Reed had given her a staff more suited to the hillside than crutches, and Castelle clung to it as though she could beat Svir or any other bounty hunter back with it.
The opiates were slow to sink into her system. Each step brought something worse than pain. The sensation ran through her marrow, lit up the scars left behind, and sung that her bones were going to crack, the next time she put weight on her foot.
When the painkillers finally coursed through her, Castelle was left outside of herself. There was nothing in her leg, no pain or fear, yet her footsteps were clunky, her gait lopsided and slow. Unable to put the two together, she furrowed her brow and tore handfuls of grass from the steeper parts of the hillside, doing her utmost to overtake Eos.
Brackish was in her bag. She couldn’t keep staring at the dark shape, waiting for it to glow.
Couldn’t, couldn’t.
Eos placed a hand on her shoulder, gently easing her back.
“Reed will not be happy if you return at dawn with another broken leg,” Eos said.
“I’m fine,” Castelle assured her. She puffed a heavy breath, not having expected the land to flatten so quickly. The hill rose for miles ahead of them, from the back windows of Reed’s cottage. “Are you going to tell me who Svir is? What she wants?”
“Svir is Svir. What she wants is obvious,” Eos said. “You.”
Frowning, Castelle shook Eos’ hand off, leg stiff but sturdy.
“Is she Yrician? That was Yrician she was speaking, wasn’t it?”
“Y’vish,” Eos said.
“Pardon me?”
“The people are Yrician. The language is Y’vish. And you do not have to be Yrician to speak it.”
“Yes, yes. Look at Reed, I know, I know,” Castelle muttered, sweat gathering on her forehead. “But you didn’t answer me. Is she?”
“She is.”
“Is that how you know her?”
Eos slowed her gait. It took Castelle several seconds to realise Eos was no longer beside her.
Turning on the spot, she saw Eos stark against the already lightening sky, brow furrowed. How long had they been walking? Castelle held out a hand and stared at her palm. Had it been raining the entire time?
“I do not know every Yrician,” Eos said. “I did not assume you knew Reed because of your shared heritage.”
“Now isn’t the time for a lesson in—gods. So you know her for other reasons,” Castelle said, two fingers pressed to her forehead.
It had been her head that ached all along, hadn’t it? Her leg had never factored into it. She was marching along the open plains of Llyne, limping, clinging to her staff, but no pain sunk into her marrow.
“Yes. I have known her since we were children,” Eos said, sighing. “Reed thinks she wants to kill me.”
“She wants to kill you?” Castelle said. “Gods, Eos. What did you do?”
Shaking her head, Eos to
ok the lead, marching with the certainty of someone who’d never triggered a bear trap hidden in the grass.
“Oh, no. Eos! You don’t get to pull me into this and then walk away. Not when you know I can’t do anything but hobble after you!” Castelle called.
Was shouting a good idea, out in the open? She had to be heard over the rain, yet hoped the same rain would mask her from everyone but Eos.
Rain ran down her cheeks, her nose. She sniffed, using the back of her hand to wipe her face clean.
Her hood. She had a hood, didn’t she? She pulled it over the long, red hair they’d never got the chance to hack off.
“Why does she want to kill you?” Castelle said, catching up with Eos.
“What makes you think I did something?”
“She wants to kill you. I doubt she picked you out of a hat at random,” Castelle said, digging the staff into the ground and gripping it with both hands.
“Many people wish to kill me. It is as I told you. There was a war, and I was involved. There was a war, and there were more than two sides. Not all supported me. Plenty believe me responsible for all that ails Nor, imagined or otherwise. Plenty would pay good money to have my head returned to the mainland. I do not believe Svir is entirely serious, because I do not believe she would ever return to Nor. Yet that is the official line between us.”
“That’s… grim,” Castelle said, pressing her forehead to the tip of her staff. “Is that how you met Reed? Because you were both rebels from different lands? Shared ideologies, that sort of thing?”
“You are on incredibly strong medication, Princess. You are only asking these things because it has mixed with shock,” Eos said, heading off into the night. “I understand that you are scared. That this is stressful. But those are personal things, Princess.”
“I am no Princess,” Castelle muttered, setting off after Eos. “People like you and Reed saw to that. I wonder, was it all a joke to you? Did you sit down to dinner with me and laugh afterwards, delighted I was none the wiser? There is every chance in the world that woman stood over the bodies of my family, that she celebrated with those who slaughtered them.
“And I understand that it was for the greater good. I really do. Look at this island, free of the scourge my family brought! But it so black and white with both of you, Eos. Good and bad. Either or. Imagine if the Kingdom had fallen into disrepair after the massacre. Imagine if it was all for nothing and these hills were bare of more than sheep. Would she be in the right, then?
“Would she be allowed to live as a doctor, free of the past? Would she be entitled to this quiet life?”
Castelle held out an arm as she spoke. The rain pelted Eos’ cloak, leaving a blue glow behind as Brackish lit up the night. So what if Svir was following them? Let her come. Let her distract herself with Eos, let there be some conclusion to this all, finally.
Eos would fight. Eos would use Brackish, and Brackish wouldn’t fail.
They wouldn’t have to worry what lurked in the shadows, after that.
They should’ve been using Brackish. The sword had a mind of her own, and the blade understood how to dig deep. It had been waiting for so long, so very long, to sing again. All it wanted was its freedom, to be outside of its box, to do the one thing it was forged for.
The one thing no one would ever take away from a blade.
Eos dropped the glowing bag to the ground. She piled the others atop it and marched straight towards Castelle, chin raised, jaw set.
“Do not speak that way of Reed,” she said. “It is not all black and white, Princess. Reed saw everything that happened in the castle. Everything. She saw it all, and she was Isha Brooke’s doctor. A woman like Reed does not break her oath lightly, does not often lose patients to infection. Never speak ill of her again.”
Chapter Fifteen
The rain continued for eight more days. It followed Castelle and Eos across Llyne, down the one-thousand, six-hundred and seventy-four narrow, slanted steps crudely carved into the cliffside, and stayed with them on the boat to Fél. Rainwater mixed with ocean spray, and Castelle stared across the expanse of grey ocean, uncertain where it joined the grey sky.
“I miss the summer,” Castelle said, poking at her breakfast. “Just my luck, isn’t it? I’m finally free of that dreadful temple, no longer confined to Reed’s cottage, and the sun goes away, leaving the whole world bleak.”
“It will stop raining, eventually,” Eos said, glancing up at the trembling café awning above them. “I expect.”
“This is Fenroe. It doesn’t stop raining. There are occasionally longer pauses between onslaughts, but that’s the best we get. Besides, it isn’t the rain that’s the problem. It’s the wind, the cold. The grey. At least in summer the clouds part and I remember we have a sky.”
“It does not rain half so much in Nor. When the skies are grey, you feel them,” Eos said. “When I came to Fenroe and those days did not end, I thought there was an explanation for all the archipelago’s past troubles.”
Castelle leant back in her chair. The awning hadn’t protected the patio and her cloak was damp through, but after nights spent sleeping on the wet ground, she’d disregarded all memories of being dry.
It wasn’t often Eos offered something of herself, small though it was. Castelle chewed her bread and cheese as she searched for a reply that was neither dismissive nor too overstated.
Eos’ shoulders rose as they always did when she feared something was going to be asked of her.
“How is your leg?” Eos asked.
Castelle grunted.
“There is an apothecary, not far from here.”
“I’d rather wait it out,” Castelle said. Two people passed alongside the patio, clutching the same umbrella. Castelle shifted in her seat, turning from the street and ensuring her hood was up all the way. “Apparently, I become some foul creature while under the influence of that which alleviates pain.”
“Reed was shaken. She gave you a large dose,” Eos said. “But if you are certain.”
Castelle nodded. Her leg screamed in protest.
Since breaking her leg, she’d used it more than she ever had on Laister, and it had yet to give out. It wailed with every step, but Castelle marched on, letting it keep her grounded.
“I am not certain the opiates alone were to blame,” Eos added, long minutes later. “Brackish’s influence cannot be discounted.”
The sword didn’t light up at the mention of her name. It hadn’t glowed through the bag since they’d left Reed’s village.
“Does she whisper to you, as well?” Castelle asked.
“Yes. She mostly wants me to kill you.”
Castelle reined back a stilted laugh. Eos wasn’t joking.
“That’s… a sword is as a sword does, I suppose. But is it safe to have her on you? If I carry the bag, if I keep Brackish on my person, then she cannot use you to stab…” Castelle trailed off, cutlery clipping her plate. “She’s doing it again, isn’t she?”
Eos shrugged.
“I hope I’m not that foolish. But why is it that you can wield her without consequence? Why did the spirits leave you alone on Llyne, in Laister Forest?”
Another shrug. Eos would sooner discuss the Kingdom’s entire sordid history than breathe a word about herself.
“Why is it that some people swim faster than others? Why is it that some think faster, paint better, dislike reading, learn languages without trying?”
“Surely you’re not comparing the spiritual to literary preferences,” Castelle said.
A third shrug.
“Some things are in the gods’ hands,” was all Eos said.
With that, she continued tackling her breakfast. It was the most either of them had eaten since leaving Reed’s, and the first time they’d had the distinct pleasure of sitting in a chair. Castelle rejected all illusions of the rest of the journey being so pleasant and did her utmost to match Eos’ pace.
Fél was a small island with few permanent residents, but ha
d hundreds of visitors at any one time. It was the geographic heart of Fenroe, a dull star in the centre of a spiralling constellation. The story went that the gods had sat upon Fél and pulled the other twelve islands from the vast ocean.
Tens of thousands of years ago, the long-dormant volcano at its heart had poured lava across the island, leaving it more rock than dirt. Agriculture wasn’t an option, but tourism and piety were.
“Layla always wanted to come here,” Castelle said.
The port town brimmed with inns and taverns, restaurants sharing the same walls, and cafés spilling onto rain-soaked patios. It was easy to imagine a city stretching inland towards the horizon, but it was all ancient caves and shallow inlets.
Eos looked up.
“She wanted to see the Seat of the Gods, to get lost in the caverns,” Castelle said. “She was always fascinated with the divine and spiritual, and never stopped talking about Fél.”
“Is,” Eos said.
“Pardon?”
“She is fascinated with the divine and the spiritual.”
A faint smile caught Castelle’s lips.
“That’s right, isn’t it? I have to stop talking about her as though she’s dead. Well. When we were young, she always said it was a good thing I wasn’t firstborn, wasn’t destined to become Queen. Only I don’t think destined was the word she used. Something closer to doomed, knowing her. We laughed about it at the time, but, well…
“She said it was a good thing Marigold was going to be Queen, so we could go exploring together. Fél was the first place she wanted to go to. My mother always adored Layla. She lamented that she was on my father’s side of the family, not hers, and so hadn’t been born a Greyser. But she always added that it was for the best—Greysers didn’t care about old statues in old caves.
“She didn’t stop talking about Fél, even when we were in Laister. My fathers told me not to pay it too much heed. Layla was grief-stricken, weakened by what’d happened. Everything we’d endured and were enduring had nearly destroyed her, and she’d turned to the gods for answers. For comfort. She’d resigned herself to a life of serving, not leading.