A Trail of Embers

by C A Kinnee

  Meara looked at Kieran. He was surveying the dismal mire surrounding them. He looked a little sick. Who could blame him? The endless reek of mud clung to everything. She was used to the narrow roads and shuttered windows. How did it look to an outsider—hemmed in, the target of all eyes? Sensing her gaze, he glanced up.

  “How can you stand this place?”

  She looked away without answering and her eyes returned to the sagging buildings.

  “We have to find the First. Here we’re like flies on a ham waiting for a swatter. If only I could reach Orlan.” He lapsed back into silence, pausing now and then to pull her forward.

  Her feet dragged as if anchored in clay. The stifling rot grew heavier with every breath she sucked into her lungs. Rain had started falling in a fickle curtain. It masked everything that lay before them. This time, it was Kieran who stopped.

  “This is madness,” he muttered. “To hide here means you must watch your front for attack, while your enemies sneak up behind you.”

  Meara nodded in wholehearted agreement.

  Kieran shook his head and lapsed back into his study of the empty buildings. “Stay alert. The rain will hide any warning we might get. We have to find a door.”

  “A door. There are many,” Meara said, gesturing at the broken entries to the ruins.

  “No . . . a gateway through the wall. There has to be one. At one time, this was an active part of the town,” he said impatiently.

  “I won’t leave Vendonne,” Meara said. Her skin prickled at the thought of finding a gate, especially the one where the creature had first entered the town.

  “Meara, you have to. We have no choice. The watch looks for you, and now Metreo. Metreo has the help of the Mage. You remember your last meeting with him? That didn’t end well, did it?” he challenged.

  Meara remained silent. Could he be right? Could the egg be so important? A dragon though? How was she to know what to believe? It was easy to spout of dragons and mages when you knew something about them, but when everything you knew came from songs and stories . . .

  “. . . right?” Kieran looked at her expectantly. Irritation edged his voice.

  Meara started guiltily. She hadn’t heard a word.

  She looked away. Something tumbled across the road in front of them. It rolled to a stop, sinking into the mud. Kieran grabbed Meara’s arm. A dull drone shivered over her skin, raising the hairs on her neck. The egg trembled to wakefulness, clicking quietly. A low moan stirred the silence.

  Kieran pulled Meara towards the center of the street, away from the empty brooding buildings. He had a short sword in his hand.

  “Do you have a knife?” he demanded.

  Meara bent and lifted the edge of her long woolen gown to her knees. She freed her blade from its hidden sheath. She looked up in time to see Kieran sway. His eyes were shut tightly, his face drained of expression.

  “Kieran, what’s wrong?” she asked urgently.

  “The link . . . it’s buzzing . . . as though . . .” His eyes flickered open. His pupils were flat black balloons floating in a sky of gray.

  “Orlan?” he said.

  Meara shivered. She heard the faint whisper of a faraway voice.

  The attack came before she took her next breath. Kieran dived forward as a misshapen mass of fur and teeth exploded through the boarded window of the nearest building. Bits of wood rained out like shrapnel stinging Meara’s face and hands. Kieran flung himself between Meara and the beast, pulling her down and rolling to shield her. Before she could catch her breath, he was up, moving to place himself in front of her.

  Meara pushed herself to her knees and blinked the mud from her eyes. In front of her, Kieran waited grimly, a long thin knife clutched in each hand.

  “What is it?” she whispered, crawling to his side.

  He shook his head.

  The creature staggered up. Its powerful shoulders flexed as it shook the mud from its fur. Head high, it sniffed the air, its breath rushing in and out in rasping snorts.

  “Watch it,” Kieran warned.

  Meara adjusted her grip on her own knife. Sweat leaked from her fingers. The handle in her palm felt as slippery as a pickled eel.

  Seeing her move, the creature turned towards her. Its eyes were coals of black granite set in red-rimmed pits. They stared into hers, burning her with a gaze of feral intensity. Meara gasped and recoiled.

  Slowly, deliberately, the beast settled back on its heavily muscled legs. It stretched its thick shoulders and tilted its blocky head to one side, watching them. Thick gray skin stretched over its misshapen facial bones leaving its face set in a permanent snarl. The beast growled, its long slash of its mouth dropping open to reveal broken yellow teeth and a blackened tongue.

  “Howler,” mumbled Meara.

  “What,” Kieran said, risking a glance towards her.

  “Shay Lann said the howlers made the old ones leave the Forbidden Zone.” Meara adjusted her grip on the knife handle.

  Kieran edged closer, his knife at the ready. The howler watched, its eyes glittering with curiosity. Standing, it huffed loudly, its mouth dropping open in another snarl. Slowly, it retreated, dragging its long, gnarled claws, leaving behind deep furrows in the heavy mud. Fifteen paces from them, it stopped, flung its head back and roared. The sound echoed through the empty street.

  Meara scrambled to her feet and balanced catlike on her toes, her knife at the ready.

  The howler’s breath exploded in a series of torturous snorts that spattered the ground with thick yellow saliva. It hissed and moved further away.

  “Kieran, I might know of a door.” Her arguments against leaving Vendonne had vanished at the sight of the beasts.

  “Find it,” he muttered, twisting to follow the beast’s path.

  It didn’t go far. Standing tall on short heavy legs, it threw back its head and yowled again. The long surging wail drove goose bumps up Meara’s back.

  “Where? Think fast. It’s calling its friends.”

  Meara turned, scanning the buildings, desperate to find a way out. The gate. Was she right, or was she basing everything on the memory of an old man’s drunken ramblings.

  “He said the door was from the old war . . . a secret entry for scouts carrying messages from the generals. The gate was meant to be a last stand against attackers from the forest.”

  “Who said?”

  “An old guard. It was in the common room at the inn—but he was just a drunken sot. The farlander scouts mocked him and his tales.”

  “What did he say?”

  “A gate sealed and abandoned. A mark against evil sketched on its surface before the soldiers fell back.” She shivered. She remembered the old man shaking with fear, telling his tale in a broken rusty whisper. “Shay Lann said guard duty so near the Forbidden Zone had turned his brain . . . I can’t remember,” Meara said desperately, gripping her knife tighter as she shifted to follow the creature’s pacing.

  “Be calm. Let your thoughts flow.” Kieran stood stolidly by, waiting.

  She closed her eyes and felt time vanish as her mind returned to the man’s drunken ramblings. The gateway, a narrow opening, the old livery stable . . .

  Opening her eyes, she stared at the battered buildings. Her heart plummeted. Which one was the livery? The formless wreck of collapsed walls all looked the same.

  “We have to find a livery stable.”

  Kieran added his eyes to the search. He found it first. “There to the left, that half wall. Look at all the horseshoes.”

  The wall of the building had collapsed inward. The remaining warped gray boards looked ready to fall at the next breath of wind.

  A scuttling shape leapt through the wreck of the gaping door. Meara backed into Kieran as a new howler surged towards them. This one was smaller, faster.

  “How many of them are there?” She felt Kieran at her back. He hooked an arm around her and dragged her with him in retreat.

  “I don’t know. Where is the gateway?”


  “This way, behind the livery,” she whispered, moving with him, her eyes fixed on the creatures.

  They were communicating with each other, their mouths contorting under the stretched skin.

  Kieran pushed Meara past him and stumbled after her.

  “They’re hunting,” he said, “trying to flank us.”

  He was right. Their attack was almost human in its planning. Meara switched her knife to her other hand and swiped her palm dry. If it came to a fight, could she kill the small one? She took a fresh hold on her knife.

  They circled back, away from the creatures, their feet tangling in forgotten horseshoes and strips of rotting leather. Meara’s toe caught on a broken board. She tripped and sprawled to her knees amidst the weathered scraps. Face first in the tangle, she discovered that the scraps were ancient bones—brittle, gray skeletons littering the yard like untidy leftovers. She retched and wobbled to her feet.

  A flash of gray sped past Kieran’s shoulder. Hissing, the howler clicked its yellowed fangs in rapid clatter.

  “Meara, find the gate!” Kieran called, dropping back to meet the attack. Swinging his arm up, he blocked the lightning-fast swipe of gnarled claws, grunting under the force of the strike. The beast retreated. Kieran and Meara stumbled forward, past the corner of the broken building.

  “Kieran, here!”

  The great wall rose up in front of them, its blackened timbers stretching skyward. The surface of the heavily fortified wall was coated with clumps of leafy plants clinging to the charred wood in a curtain of purple. A dull gray light emanated from the veiny vines.

  Meara ran forward. The heavy gate was exactly as the graybeard had described—with a roughly drawn sign of protection etched into the scarred surface. Beside the gate was a small door latched with a heavy wooden bar. The door’s edges were singed, but the door had survived the fire that destroyed the outer gate. She reached the wall first and tugged at the wooden bar. The wood, swollen with age and decay, refused to give way. She thrust her knife into its sheath and used both hands to work the latch.

  “I can’t move it,” she said.

  “Here.” Kieran tossed his short sword to her. “Don’t cut yourself,” he said, a half-smile turning his lips.

  Meara smiled back, surprised.

  Kieran moved to the gate.

  The howlers, sensing easier prey, changed direction. The smaller one leapt towards her. Meara thrust the knife at it, striking out in a wicked arc of gleaming steel. The edge of the blade slashed the beast’s paw. Screaming, it lurched back. Its black blood mingled with the rain. Its howls piled on top of each other. Meara fell back, awaiting the next attack. Behind her, she heard Kieran fighting to move the bar.

  “Help me. I almost have it.” His voice was muffled, his face pressed against the wood.

  Meara drew her arm back and put all her strength into throwing the sword. The blade spiraled towards the largest howler. With a wet thud, it lodged deep in the creature’s shoulder, knocking it back on its haunches. The howler roared and retreated, batting at the blade with its gnarled paw.

  Meara scrambled through the mud and threw her weight behind Kieran’s, pushing up on the bar. The hard edge of the latch bit into her shoulder. Together they heaved it upwards. Slowly, painfully, the bar lifted and slid free with a heavy thunk.

  “Pull! We almost have it.” Kieran grunted in effort.

  Meara clawed at the iron handle beside the bar, straining with him, fighting to swing the door open on its frozen hinges. The ancient door groaned, gave in and moved for the first time in centuries. Yipping frantically, the howlers lunged towards them.

  Meara released her grip on the handle and yanked her knife from its sheath.

  “Come on then,” she said grimly, waving her arms.

  The door inched inward. The howlers froze. Their narrow eyes bulged as they slapped their clawed paws to their ear slits. Screaming, they dropped to the ground and rolled in the mud.

  “Kieran! They’re leaving.”

  The beasts were in full retreat, fleeing the gap as if their lives depended on it. Still wailing, they lurched through the break in the wall of the old livery.

  “They’re afraid of the opening. Look!” Meara called, tugging Kieran around to watch them run from the gate. The howlers melted through the crack in the broken building and disappeared from sight.

  Kieran turned back to the gate. “They’ll be back. Come on, help me, it’s almost open,” he said.

  Chapter 13

  Danger—be wary.

  Wait—watch!

  In the darkness

  pay heed.

  Translated from the Chronicles of the Egg

  Meara ran to Kieran, throwing her weight in with his, pulling the door towards them. Sweat rolled down her face and pooled with rainwater in the neck of her cloak. The howlers had pulled back, but she could still feel the hatred from their red-rimmed eyes resting on her shoulders. An open door—the last thing she wanted to do was step through its gap and face the forest. Wait. She straightened turning to look back at the broken walls of the livery.

  “Kieran,” she said. “Why are they so afraid of the doorway?”

  “There’s nothing scary out there. You have to trust me on that,” Kieran answered, barely looking at her. “I have it,” he said, stepping back. “Move. I’ve freed the bar, but I need room to pull the door open the rest of the way.”

  Fighting the frozen hinges had left Kieran’s face red. His thick black hair had broken free of the leather string he’d used to tie it back and it curled in wild waves around his face. Impatiently, he swiped a hand through it and flashed her a look that said he was through arguing. Unhappily, Meara stepped back. Fine. Let him use his brawn then. He could deal with the obstinate door on his own.

  Rolling her shoulders, she moved aside trying to work the kink from her lower back. The howls changed.

  “Wait! Listen!” she said, grabbing his arm.

  Kieran stopped. He turned, following the direction she was pointing, looking back at the shattered livery. The faint yips and howls were building again, rising in cracked disharmony. The sound washed over Meara sending icy tingles up her arms. The beasts were massing at the front of the ruined building. As she watched, the narrow gap in the broken door widened. A stream of howlers erupted through the breach.

  “They’re coming,” Meara said flatly.

  The dull humming started up again. This time Meara knew what it meant. This time the attack would be better planned—and more ferocious.

  She closed her eyes, touched her amulet and yanked the knife free of her belt. “Bring your fight,” she muttered, balancing the weight of the weapon in her hand.

  The humming stopped. The silence stretched. Before she took her next breath, the attack commenced.

  Howlers exploded from the ruins of the old livery, yipping and snarling, charging the gate in a well-organized pack. Meara fell back raising her knife. The close quarters of the fight pinned her and Kieran against the charred outer wall. Here her accuracy with a throwing knife wouldn’t matter. What was the point in tossing away your only weapon?

  One sooty gray beast watched her. The black stare from under blood red lids sent a lick of fear through her. She looked for Kieran and found him behind her. He held a blade clutched in each hand. Closer, closer—the pack advanced. Their breath hung like fetid fog in the cool air. Meara tightened her grip on the knife.

  The lead howler staggered. It stiffened and stopped. Its jaws opened and closed in a series of frenzied snaps. Shrieking and rolling, it dropped to the ground, batting at its ears with clawed paws. The creatures closest to it stumbled back, fighting each other to get clear. The attack degenerated into disorganized flight.

  Across the street, more howlers erupted from the broken buildings. They raced towards the pack, adding their strength to the rush. Bigger and faster, they harried the others, snapping at their heels, forcing them forward. Harsh snarls rose above the yips. Thick gray slobber dripped from p
anting mouths. As one, the pack flung itself at the gap only to drop back before seizing the advantage of their combined strength. Pounce, retreat, pounce, regroup.

  “Why don’t they attack? What are they waiting for?” Meara asked, bewildered.

  “Something is pushing them, but they’re trying to resist,” Kieran answered. “Watch the little one. It’s fast.”

  The rank earthy stink of the beasts burned in the back of her throat. Meara shifted, fixing her eyes on the one Kieran had warned her about. It was fast like he had said. It lunged towards her, its ragged claws ripping the air in a rushing whoosh. She raised her knife to block the strike and staggered under the weight of the blow. Crying out, she fell back. Pain flooded her arm. Her hand went numb. Was it broken? She tried to move her fingers.

  The howler shrieked and fell back, slurping at the blood leaking from its paw. Another gamboled towards her. Its mouth opened and its yellow fangs gleamed dully. This time, Meara retreated.

  Kieran grabbed her cloak and yanked her backwards. She staggered against him and collided with the charred wall. The impact knocked the breath from her.

  “Go,” Kieran shouted, shoving her towards the gap.

  The narrow opening caught her, tugging at her cloak like reaching fingers trying to hold her back.

  Another push and she was through, recoiling at the openness in front of her. Kieran scrambled out behind her. She scarcely noticed when he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and hurried her forward. What had she done? The blood left her head in a dizzying rush. Kieran didn’t let her stop. He grabbed hold of her hand and dragged her away from the open door.

  Meara had assumed the open space surrounding the town was flat barren ground. She had been wrong. It was a quagmire, riddled with the chopped skeletons of ancient trees, stretching like a graveyard towards the forest. As she ran, the roots clawed at her ankles—rotting hands bent on pulling her down. Her feet tangled and she lost her balance. She tripped and rolled, the loose mud melting under her as she tore at the spongy wood in an attempt to stop her slide. Chunks of rotting bark gave way beneath her fingers. She came to rest amidst the shattered tree trunks, her breath rising and falling in uneven pants.