by D. E. Morris
Cavalon approached them first and placed a large hand on one of the horses as the travelers stopped. “Greetings, friend,” said an older man at the reins. Beside him rode a little boy, a teenage boy leading the second wagon. “Where have you traveled from?”
Cavalon gave a crooked smile. “I don’t think you’d believe me if I told you.” He glanced into the distance with purpose. “And you? Where are you coming from?”
The man looked down at the boy and gave a nod of his head. The little boy climbed into the back of the wagon as the older man’s expression went dark. “Bás. If it is rest you seek, I suggest making camp and then walking back the way you came.”
“Why would anyone name a village, 'Death'?” asked the Badarian.
“That’s where the sick go to die.”
Everyone turned to look at the little boy. His answer had been quiet and dark, and his expression was veiled. Cavalon frowned and shook his head. “I’ve never heard of such a place before.”
“That’s because only those banished to it and those who know someone banished to it ever speak of it.” It was the teenager who spoke this time, jaw set.
Badru asked, “How long were you there?”
“Not long,” the old man admitted. “We had to bring some people to the village, but we weren't allowed entrance.”
The older boy was issuing warning in his gaze upon Cavalon and Badru. “Stopping there would be folly. You should make camp as suggested and keep moving when morning breaks.”
Cavalon looked at Badru, hoping for some kind of agreement or hesitation, but the darker man was completely blank. With pursed lips, Cavalon looked up at the old man once more. “There isn't another town for a long time from here if you’re headed east. How are you on provisions?” It wasn’t as though they had much themselves, but the two of them could make quick work of hunting if the travelers needed food.
“We’re a bit low on water,” the man admitted, “but we have plenty of meat to last us.”
“There’s a freshwater stream a few miles from here,” Cavalon offered. He stepped back as the old man thanked him and the two wagons moved on. He watched them go and caught sight of the little boy poking his head out of the back of his wagon. He smiled brightly and waved at Cavalon, who smirked and returned the gesture.
When the travelers were well on their way, Cavalon rested his hands on his hips. “Have you ever seen an Elemental powers transfer?”
Badru’s brow wrinkled as he considered the question. “Once, many years ago. It is not a pleasant thing to witness.”
“Last year when Mei Xing was killed and Misuzu got her powers, she started shaking uncontrollably. Her eyes went back in her head and she fell to the ground. She looked like she was dying.” Badru looked at his friend with a raised brow, not quite following. “When Nealie’s child received her powers, the same thing would have happened. He or she would have been assumed possessed. Or seriously ill at the very least. What village would let someone like that stay there?”
“It is only logical that the child is here and lends a much more ominous air to the death of the Volarim messenger.”
Turning back to face the village in the distance, Cavalon squared his shoulders. “Let's get moving then.”
Neither of them was sure of what to expect, but what greeted them as they drew upon the front entrance into the town was certainly out of the ordinary. There was a tall wall of tree trunks and rope that appeared first on the horizon. The smoke in the sky told that the village itself was farther in and not at all close to the gate or the wall itself. A woman sat outside the gate, skin darker than Badru’s and black hair plaited and wound into a knot at the base of her neck. She saw the two men approaching and rose from her chair, setting down the needlework she’d been doing and crossing her arms over her pale green tunic.
“No visitors.”
Her accent was not of Ibays and sounded of regions from Badru’s own homeland. She looked the men over with narrowed hazel eyes, her gaze locked on Cavalon as he stepped forward to speak with her.
“We’re looking for someone.”
“Aren’t we all?”
Cavalon paused a moment, taken aback by her tone. “No, I mean we are searching for a specific person. Has anyone come here this past month, a child, a little girl?”
“People come to Bás every day. Men, women, children. All ages.”
“But she will have come because she's been shunned-”
“Well that narrows it down to half the village.”
Cavalon’s jaw flexed when she interrupted him. He needed to find some patience and his tone was strained when he continued. “She would have been shunned for uncontrollable shaking, maybe collapsing, blacking out. Has a child like that arrived this past month?”
“Maybe.” The woman sniffed and rested her hands on her hips. “Listen, we get people coming here more often than anyone can keep track of. We don’t ask questions, we just provide shelter and comfort for as long as it’s needed to those that need it.” She looked up and pointed at the smoke that rose in the sky. “See that? That is a fire that never sleeps because someone has died and has been fed to the flames. No one who comes here stays here long. At least not in the physical realm.”
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“You seem to know a lot about a place that has a high residential turnover rate. Are you sick?”
“Do I look sick?”
Cavalon’s mouth opened for a retort, but Badru’s hand on his arm stopped him. He let out a frustrated growl and walked away to let Badru try. “To which element do you belong?”
The woman stared at him for a moment before asking, “What?”
“Gaelic blood does not prevent one from getting sick but will keep them healthy in many more situations than normal mortals. To which element do you belong?”
Her lips set into a thin line as she considered him. Finally she answered, “Earth.”
Badru nodded. “You do a noble thing, staying here as guardian.”
She shrugged one shoulder. “Someone has to. There are a few of us, some elves, too, who help out as much as they can.”
“Please try to think,” Badru asked. “Has there been anyone to arrive with symptoms like the ones described by my friend?”
Again the woman shrugged, then sat back down and picked up her needlework. “Like I said, we don’t ask. I’m not part of the treatment team so I can honestly tell you that I don’t know.”
“May we enter and ask around for ourselves? You see, we are Gaels as well.”
She shook her head. “No one goes in unless they’re sick or here to stay and work.” She looked up from her needlework with a challenging glance at Cavalon. “So unless you want to boil fresh bandages, clean pus from infected wounds, or take a chance at being showered in vomit while you remove soiled bedding, you’re going to have to move on.”
“You have to let us in!” Cavalon bellowed. Badru reached out to hold him back, but Cavalon easily tore his arm free and stalked back over to the woman. She looked up at him, undaunted. “If the person we’re looking for is in that village-”
“Then they’re going to die.” She stood up again, gaze turned to ice. “You’re not getting in. Simple as that. Move on and have a nice day.”
Once more Cavalon began to speak, and once more Badru stopped him by taking his arm and pulling him back. “Come. There is nothing more we can do here.”
For a moment it seemed as though Cavalon would revolt. The woman at the gate was no longer sparing them her attention and that alone was enough to incite anger in the Badarian. Thankfully Badru had a cooler head and was able to lead Cavalon away. Neither of them spoke a single word until they passed the crest of a small hill and the gatekeeper was no longer in sight. Here, Badru stopped Cavalon by touching his arm.
“Are you ready?”
Cavalon nodded, anger still evident in his scowl. “I thought you'd never ask.”
It happened in a flash: one mo
ment they were standing there, the next they were swallowed by fyre and taken away. Both braced themselves for the screams that would surely come from their sudden appearance inside the walls of Bás but when they reappeared, nothing happened. No one seemed to even notice them and it quickly became apparent as to why.
There was a consistent flurry of movement as people of every age, shape, size, and race moved from house to house. Linens were being exchanged, straw mattresses being heaved out of windows to be carted away to the fires, medicines were being delivered, bodies were carried toward a smoking building at the center of the village. No one paid them any attention because no one had the time.
Knowing they didn't want to stay there a moment longer than they had to, Cavalon and Badru split up to ask around for the child they sought, describing the symptoms they'd listed off to the gatekeeper. Many barely paused to listen before hurrying on their way, while some stayed to humor them before denying any knowledge of a child like that and returning to their tasks. They traveled the length of the small village and back again on separate routes, and when they met one another close to the gate, neither felt optimistic. Yet it was there an elderly woman approached, asking if they were the men she'd heard searching.
“A young girl was delivered here several days ago,” said the woman. “They said she had shaking fits, and fainted, all the things you mentioned.”
“Has she been sick since she's been here?” Badru asked excitedly.
“No.”
The two men looked at each other, hopeful. “Take us to her,” demanded Cavalon.
They hurried through the village once more, following the old woman down a side street they'd somehow missed, and ducking into a hole in the side of one of the buildings blocked only by a tattered blanket for a door.
“She's in the back room,” the woman told them quietly. “She's been very frightened since she's been here. Won't speak in anything but Ibayish Gaelic.”
Cavalon and Badru looked at each other. “I do not know any Gaelic,” the darker man confessed.
“I know a phrase or two in both Ibayish and Sinessian from Jaryn who combines the two without even realizing he's doing it,” said Cavalon, “but not enough to hold a conversation.” He looked at the woman. “Do you speak Gaelic? Can you translate for us?”
“Of course.” With haste, she turned for another blanket blocking another hole in the wall, and led the men through.
The room was cooler than the other, with no windows and no light coming in but from the barely covered hole. Candles and lanterns sat around the room on books, some on a small writing desk, revealing poor conditions for any living thing indeed. The floor was packed dirt, stained in places by things neither of them wanted to think about. Rotted food drew in flies and a chamber pot was in desperate need of being emptied. In the far corner of the room on a thin straw mattress sat a little girl, red hair over her face in knotted tangles, knees drawn up to her chest. If she'd heard them come in she made no move to show it.
“She's hidden here,” the woman explained upon seeing the disgust on the faces of the two men. “I moved her here away from those who really are sick. It's the only safe place.” She moved forward and pushed some of the girl's hair from her face. “Her name is Rowan.”
Cavalon moved first, taking slow steps so as not to frighten the girl, and crouching before her when he was close enough. “Hello, Rowan. My name is Cavalon.”
“Dul amach.”
“Bheith dea-bhéasach!” hissed the old woman in a chiding tone.
The girl made a sound between a sigh and a growl. “Ceart go leor!” Her face lifted and the woman brushed the rest of the tangled hair from her face to reveal unnaturally pale green eyes. “Dia duit.”
Badru took a step forward with brows drawn together. “Is she blind?”
“Can't see a thing,” the old woman answered regretfully. “But she has the ears of a bat, I'll tell you that much.”
Cavalon rose and peered down at Rowan, expression thoughtful. His head tilted this way and that to get a better look at her face. “The nose is right, hair color, eyes, freckles.”
“She has Nealie's jaw, too. She must be her child.” Badru looked to the old woman. “Was she brought here with anyone or anything?”
“There were a cartload of people she came with but none of them are still alive. As far as what she had with her, just the clothes on her back.”
Which wasn't saying much. Her dress simple and worn, but still in one piece. Even though it was dirty, it was clear the garment was one of a peasant. Wherever Rowan came from, her family couldn't have been very high in social status.
“We need to get her out of here,” said Cavalon quietly. “This place isn't safe for so many reasons.”
Badru bobbed his head, lips curved in a thoughtful frown. “I agree. She needs to be in a safe environment, a nourishing one. I will take her home with me. I can teach her much about who she is and who her mother was.”
Cavalon looked at his friend with a raised brow. “And how do you plan on communicating with her if she only speaks Gaelic?”
“I suppose you think you would have a better chance with her in Braemar?”
“No, I don't. I think we should bring her to Siness. Jaryn and Ashlynn will be able to speak with her and keep her safe while we figure out what our next move is going to be.” He turned to the woman again. “Can you tell her we're taking her away from this place?”
As she did so, Badru narrowed his eyes. “We need to be sure she is one of us, Cavalon. Before we take her anywhere we need to be without doubt.”
“And how do you plan on doing that?”
He was studying the girl, watching the way she listened to the woman and showed no emotion when she was told she would be leaving. Holding out a hand, fyre sprang to life in his palm. The woman shrieked and shrank back, but Rowan sat up a bit straighter and turned her head as if listening to the flames. “Tell her to hold out her hand.”
“What?”
He looked at the woman, repeating himself and ignoring the look of fear on her face. For a moment it looked as if Rowan would not comply but slowly her hand lifted, thin fingers reaching out to the fyre as though she could sense exactly where it was. Badru crouched before her again and brought the colorful flames within her reach. When her hand moved closer he didn't back away but simply watched as her fingers swept through the fyre as though it were nothing more than a draft of air. A bit smug, he looked up at Cavalon. “Look at her hand.”
Without even being asked, Rowan held up her hand, palm out. She didn't move, didn't seem to breathe when Cavalon carefully examined her skin. There wasn't a single mark on her. “Nothing.”
“I believe we have our proof.”
“Áit a bhfuil mo athair?”
Both men looked at the old woman. “She wants to know where her father is.”
“Tell her we're going to find out,” Cavalon promised, “but for now she has to come with us.” There was reluctance on the woman's face that was easy to recognize. “Thank you for taking care of her; we'll make sure she's safe from here on out. She's family.” Skeptical, the woman's eyes went to Cavalon's honey complexion, then to Badru's darker skin, and finally to Rowan's pale coloring. It made Cavalon shrug. “Of sorts.”
“Do you know how old she is?” Badru asked suddenly.
“She told me she's nine.”
“Hmm...”
Cavalon glanced at his friend. “Does that mean anything to you? Do you remember Nealie even being pregnant?”
Badru shook his head. “You know how it was with Nealie. Even though she and I were close there would be months at a time, occasionally a year or two before I would see her again and we would continue on as if we had never been apart. I always thought if she had a child she would have told me.” He was hurt, that much was evident in his quiet voice. “But it matters little now. We have found her daughter and we must protect her at all costs.”
At Badru's behest the woman told Rowan to stand and go
with the two men. He had her tell Rowan that both of them had known her mother, though that appeared to matter little to the young girl. She asked again if they would find her father and when Cavalon swore they would she gave a decisive nod and rose, slipping one hand into Cavalon's, the other into Badru's. Something soft passed her lips that made the woman smile.
Then fyre came and they were all gone.
The throne room erupted in chaos when blue and gold flames exploded to life within, sending men and women scattering with cries of alarm. Guards rushed forward by instinct, and Cavalon scooped Rowan up while Badru blocked the men with hands outstretched. “We are not enemies!”
“Stand down!” Jaryn commanded, rising from his throne. His hazel eyes, usually full of mirth and mischief, fell upon the two men with anger. “What gave you the idea that coming right into the throne room like that would be the best course of action? My men nearly ran you through!” He glanced at the girl in Cavalon's arms before nodding to one of his men. “Find my wife.”
“I miscalculated,” Cavalon growled, his best attempt at an apology. “We were supposed to come out in the courtyard.”
“Does this look like the courtyard?”
“Forgive us for the disruption,” said Badru. He looked around the room with apology. “It would give anyone a start to have a fyre spring up where it is not expected.”
Everyone was staring at the three new additions to the gathering, most of them at the little girl clinging to Cavalon. It was enough for Jaryn to command the room be cleared. Though there were mutterings among the people they acquiesced without verbal complaint. The last man was leaving and the doors were closing behind him when Ashlynn entered, her three ladies behind her. The expression on her face went from curiosity to happiness at seeing Badru and Cavalon, to immediate surprise and sympathy upon seeing the little girl and taking in her dirty state.
“Is this her?” She hurried forward but paused when she saw the girl wrap her arms a bit tighter around Cavalon's neck. “I won't hurt you, little one.”