A Trail of Embers

by C A Kinnee

  “What?”

  “Flowers, toads, smells . . . It doesn’t matter. We have to go,” he said impatiently, grabbing her arm and forcing her to look up. “Metreo said that the egg belongs to Jakhon. It doesn’t. If he’s hunting it, we have worse trouble than your watch after us. We can’t hide here. It’s like running through a maze thinking we are free while the Mage awaits us around every corner.”

  “Leave Vendonne?” Meara pulled her arm away. “And go with you? I think not! You have been nothing but trouble since I rescued you at the inn. If I listen to you, you will tie me to your fate like a string trussing a chicken for roasting.”

  “Rescued me?” He snorted in derision. “As if you could . . .” He stopped. “We have to get to the forest. If we stay here it’s only a matter of time until they find us.”

  She shook her head, her mouth tightening into a stubborn line.

  “Then you tell me somewhere, not your shack either. That will be the first place they look,” he said.

  “I know where—” She stopped. They couldn’t go there.

  He stared at her skeptically. “And where might that be? The watch knows every nook and cranny of this town. Do you think the man with the wooden leg will let us go? And the others—those two won’t rest until they find the egg. They are in the pay of the Mage of Remarne. You know who that is, don’t you?”

  Meara met his glare. “Do you think me a fool? Of course, I do.” She didn’t, but she would never admit that to him. Instead, she scowled at him again. Who was he to act so superior? She didn’t have time to worry over the doings of some mage when finding food was battle enough.

  She crossed her arms over her chest. She wouldn’t argue any further. She concentrated on staring past his left shoulder and ignoring the icy rain trickling down her back, while she waited out the impasse. She would not give in, she thought rebelliously, batting a dripping strand of hair back from her eyes.

  “I won’t leave Vendonne. The walled town is the only place we are safe. It’s stood for more than three hundred years as protection from the forest.” All right, so she couldn’t stay silent.

  “We can’t stay here.” Kieran spoke slowly and clearly, exaggerating each syllable as if she were simple. “Metreo has dark magic on his side.”

  “We can go to the Forbidden Zone.” Just the edge—nothing had happened to her. It should be safe enough. “No one will hunt us there. They say it is cursed. Are you brave enough to cross the barricade?”

  He shook his head as if he wanted to keep arguing, or better yet, drag her in the direction he wanted to go, but the sound of voices put an end to their discussion.

  “Lead on then. Remember, I am armed. If something happens, step back. I will protect you.” He patted the top of his flat-heeled leather boot and sent her another frosty look. “I’ll find a gate to take us out of town!”

  Meara rolled her eyes and started in the direction of the Forbidden Zone. Protection. As if his brawn could overcome careful planning! It was better to use your wits than get trapped in a corner and have to fight your way out. As far as finding a gate, let him, she wasn’t going any further into the zone than she had to. She checked the makeshift pocket in her cloak to see that the egg was secure. The Forbidden Zone . . . She swallowed. She was a fool. She wasn’t nearly as brave as she pretended. Her stomach hardened into a ball at the thought of seeking refuge in a place where creatures scaled walls and slipped through chinks in mortar. There was good reason no one would seek them there. Anyone with half a brain would avoid the zone.

  “Kieran, wait!” She looked up to find him a few strides ahead of her and jogged to catch up. “We can’t go there. The curse is real.”

  “How is it cursed?” Kieran kept walking, barely paying her any attention.

  “During the Meeachon Wars? Before attackers fired the gate, something entered through it. People say . . .” She drifted to silence. It wasn’t good to speak of such things.

  But she had to. Kieran was a farlander. He didn’t understand the walled town. He didn’t know its history. It was up to her to make him listen.

  “My friend, Shay Lann, she says . . .” She stopped. Speaking of the evil made her mouth dry as dust. “Her people—her ancestors—are of the old quarter—what is now the Forbidden Zone. After the thing arrived, they abandoned it.”

  “Old stories,” Kieran scoffed trading glares with a scruffy boy dragging a bleating goat.

  “Listen to me,” Meara demanded, grabbing his arm to stop him.

  “Shay Lann said before her people left, the thing killed many—men, women, children—it mattered nothing to the beast. Shay Lann’s people, the people you see here, live in the shadow of the Forbidden Zone, but they will not cross the barrier.”

  “Old wives’ tales meant to frighten children into being good,” Kieran muttered. “Surely you don’t believe them.”

  “Kieran!” She had to run to catch up with him. If anything, instead of slowing, he quickened his pace. “You have to listen! The thing is still there.”

  “We have to keep moving.”

  “Kieran,” she tried again. “The town is waking. News of the caravan has reached here. You have to at least try to look as if you belong,” she said waspishly.

  A cold chill passed through her. The street teemed with people. News of the eagerly awaited caravan had prodded even the night owls out of bed. In a place where work drove every waking moment, two people standing idly attracted attention. The sullen men striding towards the market sent hard looks their way. The glances of the worn, tired women were less direct, but just as hard. They clutched their baskets and hurried towards the market dragging their thin-faced, big-eyed children behind them. Meara flinched away from the dull hatred in their eyes.

  “Merdon, the old quarter of all places,” she muttered. “Put your hood up.”

  During their run, his hood had fallen back and his black hair straggled free around his face. Meara pulled her own hood higher covering her hair.

  “They will be looking for work and supplies. You stand out like an ox in a chicken coop.” She reached up, trying to catch hold of his hood and tug it forward.

  He dodged away. “And you don’t?” he muttered.

  Meara’s breath hissed through her teeth. She tried again. “You don’t understand. We’re not like these people. They see the Dark One’s doings in everything that happens. Farlanders never come this way. The tribunal here . . .” She drifted to silence. Why should he listen? He had no idea what these people were capable of.

  She risked another look around. The stares of the men and the disapproving glances of the women made her skin crawl. She tugged at Kieran again.

  “These people are not like those of the rest of the walled city. They are harder, crueler. Even their vision of the Great One is different from any other. They preach obedience at all costs and one mistake will get you hauled before the tribunal. The tribunal hands out death sentences like merchants’ order beatings.”

  In her mind, she was a child again—running from the graybeard, darting past the kicks and jeers—the rank scent of mud and stinging slaps of the stick forcing her small legs to pump harder. Shay Lann had saved her then, who would save her now? Not Kieran. He would dig a hole and they would both fall in. She pulled her cloak tighter and made herself small like the child she had been so long ago. Like then, no one would risk tempting the Dark One by touching a farlander. That day Shay Lann had faced the mob and scooped Meara up. If she hadn’t stepped in, the tribunal would have had its way. They would have drowned Meara in the sinner’s well.

  Meara pushed the memories away and risked another glance at Kieran.

  “Hunch down,” she ordered giving him a poke.

  He straightened deliberately, his gray eyes lifting to meet those of the passing men.

  “You’ll get us into trouble. Merdon. They’ll take us up and drag us before their tribunal. Why won’t you listen?”

  In response, his hand dropped to the knife sheathed in the
leather scabbard at his hip. He wanted someone to challenge him. Merdon! Meara shrank lower and concentrated on making herself as small as possible. Men were so stupid. She knew enough to avoid a fight. Life so close to the Forbidden Zone made people strike at the first hint of trouble. Meara’s size and coloring made her stand out like Murkwing in a flock of yellow montang birds. With Kieran at her side, all eyes turned their way. Even now, the three-fingered sign against evil flickered on the fingertips of passing townsfolk.

  Meara clicked her tongue in vexation. “You may as well send a messenger to Zarnache.”

  Kieran shrugged and kept walking. “I am not afraid of these people. I will protect you.”

  Meara rolled her eyes and trotted to keep up with his longer strides. As they skirted the knots of people, conversation became difficult. She slid her fingers into his to avoid separation. Voices buzzed around them like angry bees.

  “. . . they say he was frozen—dead,” a woman whispered.

  “How can that be?” Disbelief marked the answer.

  “Evil comes out of this long darkness,” a voice intoned.

  “I don’t want to hear this. You spread fear with these tales.”

  “Ask Lineo par Vache if you don’t believe me.” The whisperer was offended.

  The bits of conversation brought new fear to Meara. It sat like a heavy rock on her chest. They moved away from the crowd. The voices faded, but her heart pumped faster as the words cycled in her head.

  “Kieran.” She pulled him to a stop. “That thing last night, do you think that’s what they speak of? That it has killed again?”

  “We can’t stop.” He avoided answering.

  Reluctantly she started walking, but the sense of growing danger made her feet lag until she stumbled to another stop. Kieran was a few paces ahead of her. He looked more determined than ever, his face set and hard, his eyes fixed on the growing expanse of wall at the edge of the town.

  “You there!”

  Meara’s heart dropped to her stomach. Too late. Kieran had gained them just the sort of attention she wanted to avoid. She ducked her head, keeping her eyes firmly set on the muddy street.

  Name your house.” A gaunt gray-bearded elder stepped onto the street blocking their path. He banged his heavy oaken staff on the ground in front of him and stared sternly down his nose. “You do not belong here.”

  “Be at ease, sir. We will not trouble you with our presence for long,” Meara said quickly, bowing low. She had to keep Kieran from speaking. Curse him, she’d known no one would believe he belonged. He was too bold. In old town, it was best to keep your eyes modestly down and your feet ready to run. The last thing he should have done was meet the hard look directed by the graybeard.

  “Then move on. We have no need of your godless ways.”

  Kieran inclined his head slightly and looked as if he would answer.

  Meara stepped forward and bowed lower. “Thank you, good father. My farlander friend is simple and disobedient. I am to show him where those that mock the Great One end up.” She grabbed Kieran’s arm.

  “Take him then. Show him to the tribunal hall that he might see the true light.” A fanatical gleam glistened in the graybeard’s eyes.

  Meara bowed again and towed Kieran past.

  “Simple and disobedient?” Kieran said. He raised a questioning eyebrow.

  “You are,” she insisted. “You act like one of the scouts your people send to the town. Zarnache has a special cell for those men. It’s where they sleep off their ale before he tosses them out the gates.”

  “Wait. You’ve seen men of the forest before?”

  “Well, maybe not men of the forest, but other farlanders. They are all the same, too brash and too brave.”

  “You think I’m brave?” Kieran asked.

  Meara glanced up and found him looking at her, a smile tilting his usually stern mouth. The look flustered her. She turned away. Brave, but foolish too, she decided. The egg purred gently inside its nest of cloak. The sound reassured her. If they walked into danger, the egg would warn her. She didn’t know how she knew that, but she recognized the truth in the thought.

  Chapter 12

  Danger—be wary.

  Wait—watch!

  In the darkness

  pay heed.

  Translated from the Chronicles of the Egg

  The zone was close. Whatever evil lived there hummed under her skin, like a constant itch she couldn’t reach. Beneath her feet the ground grew steadily rougher. Tangled woody roots poked through the broken cobblestones waiting to catch an unwary step. Everywhere, piles of unidentifiable muck rested in stinking heaps. Hollow buildings rose above the filth, wrecks of shattered boards and shuttered windows. Meara wrinkled her nose at the smell and quickened her pace.

  This near the Forbidden Zone people cared only about avoiding the touch of the Dark One. Even the graybeard had turned away to stroll less ponderously in the other direction. The buildings lining the broad thoroughfare were devoid of life, their sagging walls weeping their neglect in runnels of sooty black that striped the faded whitewash.

  This barricade so close to the lost gate was nothing like the one she had slipped through to gather wood. This barricade was piled high with thick slabs of timber and brick. Heavy mortar filled the gaps creating the illusion of an imposing wall. Spikes of iron rod jutted like quills on a porcupine, warning people away from doing the very thing they were about to attempt.

  Shay Lann said that long ago the Forbidden Zone was a thriving place, the people as light and happy as they now were cold and angry. The shops and homes facing the street were once treasured places where townsfolk gathered to while away the time in conversation. Great trees had lined the streets and flowers bloomed in storefront gardens. The people were proud of their place and the great stone statues that celebrated their heroes. Some said that pride brought evil to them. It didn’t matter. That time was long in the past. Now the ancient cobblestones rested in broken piles as if the ground had frozen hard and heaved upward—or worse—as if something had burrowed to the surface tossing bricks like castings left by giant worms. The barrier started with such fanfare was now an abandoned monolith.

  Meara rubbed her hands over her arms and stepped closer to Kieran, waiting for him to finish studying the strength of the barricade.

  He looked up at her. “If they meant for no one to cross, why didn’t they finish building it?” He yanked a fragment of board free and wood tumbled to the ground.

  “Who could work so close to such evil?” she whispered.

  He shrugged and said, “Be careful. These spikes could cause an ugly slash.”

  “We don’t have to do this,” Meara said. “There are other places to hide.”

  “What are you afraid of—empty buildings? There’s no one here.” He dismissed her fears as his eyes shifted over the broken structures.

  To Meara, the boards covering the ragged holes in the walls looked like jagged teeth set over gaping mouths. Beneath the fangs, the empty gaps brooded silently. She could feel the weight of eyes peering from the pooled shadows. It was like the last time she had entered the zone, only worse.

  She stepped closer to Kieran. Two were safer than one, she consoled herself. If monsters roamed the streets of old town, maybe they would hesitate to attack more than one. She shivered thinking of the black shape shifting like quicksilver over the alley wall.

  “I can’t do it, Kieran. I can’t stay here. There’s something out there. Can’t you feel it watching?” she asked. The egg twitched against her side.

  The brooding emptiness cast its guardianship over the surroundings. No one would stay here willingly.

  “Here, help me with this.” Kieran had found a weak spot in the obstacle in front of them. “If we move this brick, we can make a path,” he called.

  Reluctantly Meara moved to his side.

  “Here,” he said impatiently, grabbing her hands and placing then on the thin lip of exposed rock. “I’m going to pull this
end. Ready?”

  She nodded.

  He dragged another board free and the ancient mortar gave way, melting in the rain like chalky cheese. The gap gave him room to grip the brick better and he slammed his shoulder against the rock. Slowly the block ground across the faces of its neighbors and teetered at the edge of the stack. Gravity took over. The section of wall collapsed dragging a waterfall of bricks and mortar in its wake as a narrow section of the barricade imploded.

  “There,” Kieran said, his voice laden with satisfaction. “Let’s go.” He looked at Meara and rolled his eyes. “We have to move. If we stop, they’ll find us. Those people back there are telling anyone who will listen that we came this way.”

  “No one will follow us here,” she said. Unconsciously, her hand rose to the small sack at her neck.

  Kieran muttered something under his breath and wrapped his fingers around hers, dragging her forward. They scrambled through the breech, the loose brick and mortar crunching beneath their feet.

  “This old quarter is the furthest edge of the town closest to the wall. There has to be a gate. Somewhere . . .” His voice dwindled. The silence gobbled up his words and grew fatter with their addition.

  Meara shivered. Every child knew the history of the Forbidden Zone. The ancient fathers of the walled town had recognized that they could not escape the hatred spanning the world, so they had built their walls and created weapons to protect the gates. When the wars came, they’d closed those gates, letting nothing pass without the proper inspection and permission. Their plan worked. The world fell apart around them while the walled town grew and prospered.

  Things went well until greed broke the fundamental law of inspection. The merchant, Finian par Ravon bribed a guardsman to allow a shipment from the ancient city of Laurana to pass. Whatever evil filled the final wagon escaped when the wagon lost a wheel and dumped its contents onto the street. The thing found a home in the fertile ground of the ancient city. With its arrival came the start of the killings. Eventually, the guards abandoned the gate and began building the barricade. In the end they abandoned that too. Whom would attack through the Forbidden Zone with its fired gate. Let the Dark Lord take them if they were foolish enough to try. The old gate would never open again. It was broken beyond repair.