by Sam Farren
“We’re almost there,” Castelle promised Eos, as she had so many times.
She couldn’t tell if her heart was pounding or if it’d stopped hours again. Blood could’ve ceased rushing through her veins, for all she knew. Her fingers were numb from clinging to Eos, her muscles knitted together down her back, and the only thing in the world that felt real was the pounding in the soles of her feet.
Avren was a city like all the others spread across Fenroe, or it was completely different. Castelle didn’t care. There were buildings. Roads. Lanterns lining the streets, people walking arm in arm. People stopping to stare at them.
Brackish might’ve been a short sword, but she was still a sword. She protruded awkwardly, even with the cloak wrapped around Eos.
“This was a lot easier with Svir,” Castelle muttered, pulling Eos away from the lantern light. “Where is Layla’s temple? Am I headed the right way?”
Eos shook her head against Castelle’s neck over and over, until she scraped together an answer.
“Northeast,” she murmured. “Caer District.”
“I’ve got you, Eos. Just a little longer. You’re not passing out in the middle of the city. Do you understand that?”
Eos mumbled something incoherent, but her legs kept moving.
Castelle cursed the good weather. Had they arrived on Yarrin a day earlier, sheets of rain would’ve kept people off the streets, would’ve masked the pair of them.
The signs were hard to make out on the purposely dark roads Castelle took, the city wide and twisting. It was nothing compared to Torshval, but in the dark, it could’ve stretched on forever.
The temple was in the oldest part of the city. Avren spread out from the tall, dark building, lanterns lighting up a dozen rooms scattered over four floors. The open area in front of the temple was dark, kept free of market stalls and crowds, and dim light illuminated the arched doors of the entrance.
Castelle set her eyes on the temple and didn’t take another step. Eos’ bones had been replaced by the steel Brackish was made from, and the bear trap tightened its grasp on Castelle’s leg.
“We’re almost there,” Castell whispered, teeth grit. “Just a little further.”
Eos gripped Castelle’s shirt with both hands. Castelle struggled on. The fear of Eos fainting, of anything worse happening to her, was worse than the fear of whatever remnants of her past lingered in the temple.
Castelle shouldered the door open, falling into the temple with Eos tight in her grasp. The gods greeted them, growing from the floor. The Creator, The Preserver, and The Embracer reached towards the ceiling, each with a door behind them.
Nodding to the gods, Castelle dragged Eos between The Preserver and The Embracer, boots thudding on the stone floor. She pushed another door open, leading onto a small room with low benches and an assortment of leafy plants, jarring in its tranquillity.
A desk stood behind the door, and the young man stationed at it leapt to his feet as Castelle and Eos fell into the room.
“Layla,” Castelle blurted out. “Where’s Layla?”
“Gods!” the man exclaimed, eyes fixed on Eos. “You’ve—you’ve been stabbed! Don’t worry. I’ll get someone, there are doctors here, and—”
Castelle snatched the man’s wrist as he darted out from behind his desk. Eos used the last of her strength to stumble back onto a bench, cloak falling open, sword jutting out between her ribs.
“She’s fine,” Castelle said. “Where’s Layla?”
“I—I—what?” the man stuttered.
Blood wasn’t a surprising sight to a priest and near-fatal wounds were all part of the job, but the man couldn’t take his eyes off Brackish, rising from Eos’ chest. Now they’d reached the temple, Castelle was at risk of falling into the same trap as the man.
She reached for Eos’ shoulder, but the man sprang forward, batting her hands away.
“You’ll knock the blade!” he cried. “We need a doctor, don’t worry, I’ll—”
“It’s fine,” Castelle stressed, snatching her hands back.
She wrapped her fingers around Brackish’s hilt and tugged the sword with all she had left. Castelle could’ve sooner torn Eos’ arm from her body.
“See? The wound is well and truly plugged. You need to calm down and find Layla for us,” Castelle said.
Her voice wasn’t her own. Her heart pounded, yet her words were clear and calm, her hands no longer shaking. She’d given over all the tears she could without fainting, and seeing panic and confusion spread across someone else’s face tricked Castelle into believing she had things under control.
“I—I,” the man said, palms pressed to his chest. “I’m not certain she’s working tonight.”
“I’m certain she’ll want to see me,” Castelle assured him.
“Really, I shouldn’t trouble her, and—”
“Are you going to faint?”
“I believe I might,” the man said, leaning against his desk. “I’ll—I’ll find Layla. This is a world beyond me.”
“Thank you,” Castelle said. “Tell her it’s her cousin.”
Her voice cracked on the last word. The man saw himself into the temple, eyes on Eos until the door closed. Castelle gripped her own arms.
Layla was in the temple. Layla was in the same building she was, and the time and distance that’d come between them didn’t mean a damn thing. Castelle was soaked in blood and saltwater, covered in grime, and Eos sat behind her with a spirit-sword pushed through her chest, breathing steadily.
Forget awkward reunions. Forget not knowing what to say. Layla was behind a door, through a corridor, in another room. Layla was there, Layla was there, and Eos would be safe, now that she’d got her to the temple.
Castelle couldn’t leave her, couldn’t run. She was made of the same stones as the statues of the gods, for all she could move.
She stared at the door the man had disappeared through, watching it for minutes that lasted longer than the twelve years she’d spent in the temple, waiting, waiting.
Footsteps filled the corridor. The door crashed open and still Castelle couldn’t move.
Eight years. Eight years without her, without anyone, and Layla had just burst into the room.
END OF PART I
NOTES
The Shattering of the Spirit-Sword Brackish (let’s just call it Brackish from now on) is far from over! I originally wrote the entire story in a bleary haze of six months as a single book, and my laptop started to get angry at the size of it. Publishing a 250,000+ word book in one chunk presented several problems, mostly involving the editing workload and the price/practicality of creating a paperback that big.
Splitting Brackish in two came fairly naturally: not only did I literally cleave the story in half at roughly the 50% mark, but thematically, we’ve reached the end of Castelle being pushed and pulled through her life and across the archipelago. She is no longer being led, no longer blindly following whatever terrible parental figure and/or non-assassin that comes her way. Part I ends on Castelle using her own two feet and dragging someone else along, and the reunion with Layla hopefully hits the note that Part II will build on.
Brackish was originally a very different story and has gone through a handful of iterations to make it what it is today. My wife (and the artist responsible for the incredible cover) listened to me read all incarnations of the story and has drawn the best ideas out of me. My family (dad, Marty, Ro) have all been wonderfully supportive in their eagerness to read early drafts and let me ramble about my ideas. All of my supporters on Patreon encouraged me to keep putting the work in. One of my cats stepped on the keyboard more than once to contribute her ideas. But she also slept by my side as I wrote, which was very soothing.
OTHER TITLES
The Dragonoak series, available now:
The Complete History of Kastelir
The Sun Beneath the Sky
Gall and Wormwood
From the worlds of gods and ice:
Bitf
rost
BLACK SNAKE (coming soon)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Sam Farren lives just outside of London with two cats, two snakes, a highly accomplished crested gecko, and their wife. Their writing focuses on high-fantasy worlds where LGBT characters (mostly of the lesbians and/or trans variety) are wrapped up in all sorts of adventures involving necromancers, gods, princesses, and haunted swords. Sometimes those swords are lesbians, too.
They can be found at farren.books on Instagram, or emailed directly at [email protected]