A Trail of Embers

by C A Kinnee

  She remembered the egg. Had she fallen on it? She fumbled for the oval-shaped object tucked in the pocket of her cloak. What if she smashed it—the dragon egg—the hope of Kieran’s people? What if it were smashed beyond all repair?

  The egg purred and chirped as the shell warmed beneath her hands.

  Overhead a raven screamed. It flew from the palisades, a dark arrow shooting towards the forest. It uttered another raucous cry and Meara twisted, watching it fly past. Was it Murkwing? Had he survived? He hadn’t fallen. Maybe the arrow only ruffled his feathers. He would look for her. But . . . she wouldn’t be there.

  “Kieran?” she called in a croaky whisper.

  Silence.

  The steady patter of rain drowned out her second call. She squinted through the squall searching for a glimpse of Kieran amongst the graying stumps. There. The shadows pooled in the uneven hills and valleys blended with the drabness of his cloak and granted him a form of invisibility.

  She loped towards him but caught her foot on the hem of her cloak. Falling again, she slithered over the rough ground and landed facing the dark forbidding walls of the town. The open door formed a gaping chink in the town’s defenses, but she felt only pity for anyone foolhardy enough to enter its portal.

  The wind carried the distant howling of the beasts. The breach of the door had whipped them into a savage fury, but none followed them through the gap.

  The howls morphed into tortured yelps. The agonized cries sent shivers of horror up her spine. Kieran said he thought something was pushing the howlers to attack. With every forward feint they had snapped and yipped at the surrounding air.

  The door was closing. Meara straightened, straining her eyes to see what moved it. She heard the groan of the rusted hinges and the thud of the heavy bar dropping into place. The howlers screamed and fell silent.

  Meara struggled to her feet, desperate to find Kieran. Everywhere she looked was an unbroken panorama of greens and browns. The trees were too close. Their gnarled shapes and knotted trunks looked like twisted faces that peered back at her with deep-set eyes buried in knotty skin.

  She threw a longing look at the palisades. High above the no man’s zone, gloomy Ilizar par Remmel would be settling down to toss the dice with his troop of aging guardsmen. Too lazy to ask for a busier post, Ilizar and his men whiled away the days lounging on the great wall. The guards tolerated Meara as a crow would a pigeon—a different type of bird—but still a bird. That’s where she had learned the art of the knives—when to throw and run and when to stand your ground.

  Many a time, her sharp eyes spotted the arrival of a caravan first. That earned her the right to come and go on the palisade. There was a reward for reporting the arrival of the wagons. Meara’s reward was that Zarnache stayed far away from that section of the wall.

  From far up on the wall, the tree trunks had been bland and faceless. She couldn’t see their gnarled trunks and knotted branches. She flopped onto the ground. She wouldn’t do it. She couldn’t enter the endless march of trees. She’d known the surrounding forest dwarfed the town. She’d seen firsthand the struggle to hold it at bay. By law every able-bodied man must serve time on the clearing brigade. The clear-cut area surrounding Vendonne must at all cost be kept free of growth. What she hadn’t seen was that beyond the great open field, the trees were an impenetrable ocean. Howlers or no howlers, she was going back through the gate.

  The egg chattered softly.

  “It’s your fault,” she muttered, rocking. Tears dripped down her face and mixed with the mud and rain. “You and that Kieran. He conjures fire from the sky and burns Zarnache’s leg—I’ll never go home.”

  She glared at the trees through her watery eyes. What vile creatures lived here? The egg buzzed. She pulled it closer. It squeaked at the bear hug.

  Ahead of her, Kieran saw her stop. Seeing her motionless, he sighed and bending low, loped back towards her. Impatience stamped shadows on his face.

  “Come on. We have to reach the trees. The guards can see us here. They’ll send their horse soldiers after us.” He gestured towards the palisades and stopped.

  Meara almost turned to see what he was looking at, but the mass of trees still held her eyes. She crawled to her feet and took a step backwards.

  “Meara,” Kieran said, sharply. He grabbed her arm. That broke the spell.

  “I want to go home. I’m going back.”

  “Are you dark-touched? What will you do—march up to the gate and knock? Or perhaps you want to go in the way we left. Come on.” He turned towards the woods.

  “No,” she said stubbornly. “I’m going back.” She straightened her cloak and swiped an arm across her face. “I can hide out for a long time.”

  “Meara.” Kieran was back. “You can’t go back.” He grabbed her arm and pulled.

  She resisted, but he was stronger than her and dragged her behind him. His uneven steps splashed mud back up at her. Phht. Mud splattered her. Phht, phht. She gawked. A sprinkling of arrows studded the ground in front of her. Now she didn’t need Kieran’s urging to run. She sprinted for the trees, dipping and ducking in the lethal downpouring of arrows.

  “There! Get them!” Hoarse shouts rose above the twang of arrows.

  “Take the smaller one. She’s slower!”

  “Fifty centons coin to the man who draws first blood!”

  Their path carried them near the main gate and the soldiers lining the palisade above. These weren’t Ilizar’s men. These soldiers had learned their lessons in the wars of the southern plains. Two people running from the town caught their attention. No one should be in the open land between the forest and the town. They didn’t need a command to start firing. They settled to the job of stopping the fugitives, happy at the chance to break the monotony of their watch.

  Meara clung to Kieran’s hand letting his longer strides drag her over the uneven ground. Her ankle turned as her foot caught on a thorny branch. Her breath rasped between her teeth in painful gasps. Kieran plunged through the first of the brush, cursing as he broke the line of vines strangling the trees. Ragged branches slapped Meara’s face bringing stinging tears to her eyes. She risked a glance back. The main gate was swinging open. A knot of horsemen boiled through the entrance.

  “There! Get them before they are swallowed up by the forest!” The head rider swept a gauntleted hand towards them.

  The powerful legs of the horses churned up a black froth of mud. The arrows sputtered closer, fluttering through the leaves and striking the ground. A sure shot pierced the fabric of Meara’s cloak pinning it to a thick tree trunk. The loss of momentum spun her around and she staggered into a tree. Bark scraped her palms.

  Kieran ripped the fabric free. Two more steps and the forest closed around them. The shouts faded. The attack broke off. The soldiers wouldn’t follow them into the forest without a scout. Silence dropped over them.

  Chapter 14

  Danger—be wary.

  Wait—watch!

  In the darkness

  pay heed.

  Translated from the Chronicles of the Egg

  Night’s blackness cast a cloak over the world, hemming Meara in under the dark canopy of trees. Kieran had brought her here and then left her alone in this strange world. She tucked herself into a ball and shivered in the tent of her cloak. Around her, she heard the skittering of tiny feet in the spent leaves carpeting the forest floor. Forest creatures—things she had never seen before. She pulled her legs up, tightened her grip on the handle of her knife and wiggled closer to the small fire Kieran had built before disappearing. For a moment, she busied herself poking a stick at the coals, trying to coax a bigger flame.

  “Curse you Kieran,” she said, dropping the twig. The sound of her voice triggered a wave of movement near her toes. She gulped and scooted even closer to the fire.

  She felt the weight of eyes watching from the other side of the black barrier of trees. It made the skin between her shoulder blades itch. Ducking her head, she shifted p
osition, placing her back to the embers. That was better. Now she would see an attack but staring at the flames destroyed her night vision. Everything vanished in a white blur.

  Rocking back and forth, she cradled the egg. Was it for its comfort or her own? A yawn cracked her jaw. Every muscle ached with exhaustion. If it weren’t for the dark, she would have been asleep long ago—the dark and her fear of the nightmares that would follow the closing of her eyes.

  The sooner she slept, the sooner she would have to pay the price of the disappearing trick. That price would come in the dreams that ruled her sleep. She fingered the small bag at her neck. Shay Lann said it was a talisman—a protection from evil. Shay Lann believed someday the bag would reveal the secret to Meara’s past.

  Meara shook her head. It made no sense. The sack carried nothing. It was empty, but any attempt to put something into it was met with resistance. Sometimes when it was quiet, she heard it buzzing like the sound of distant bees. She traced the faint line of embroidery on the outside of the bag. Whoever had worked the pattern had left no clue to its meaning. The disappearing trick was all it held.

  Meara had discovered the trick of the bag by accident. A gang of streeters had cornered her at the end of a blind alley. As they swarmed towards her, taunting and jeering, she had fought as hard as she could to get free. There were too many of them and they’d pinned her against the brick wall. Laughing, their leader had tried to rip the bag from her neck. Meara’s fingers had tangled in the cord and her wish to disappear become a reality. As the gang milled about in confusion, Meara conquered her shock and escaped, delivering a series of well-placed kicks on her way through the alley.

  The trick had proved costly. That night, her sleep had seethed with nightmares. The sound of her strangled scream had jolted her awake. After that, she’d huddled motionless beneath the whispering boards of her shack.

  The thought of the sack made her think of Kieran. He had a similar bag around his neck. His cloak had fallen open while he slept, and she had seen the bag half-hidden in the folds of fabric. Kieran’s bag was plainer than the one that she wore, smaller too, but the design was alike, as though worked by the same hands. How could there be another bag like hers? She frowned. The memory of the trick he’d used earlier in the day conjured more questions.

  Thoughts of the bag and its uses didn’t distract her for long. She had been wrong about the forest. It wasn’t silent. Noises crept out of the darkness—small sounds that grew more threatening with every passing moment. Here beneath the trees, the shadows swelled becoming gruesome monsters in the space of a heartbeat. She didn’t know what the creaks and moans meant, so she hunched lower, wishing she could cloak herself in invisibility. The watching eyes settled heavily on her shoulders.

  Where was Kieran? He built this tiny fire and left. How dare he leave her? Magic, hah! Stay close! She scoffed, but not too loudly. The fire will protect you. She rolled her eyes. How could a handful of dust sprinkled in the flames keep monsters at bay?

  For the thousandth time, she peered into the trees. Darkness met her eyes—a darkness so immense it sucked all light near it into a black hole. Anything could be out there, watching her, stalking her . . .

  She sank deeper into the folds of her cloak. Seated here by this tiny fire she might as well be a goat staked out for a . . . dragon. Her eyes flitted over the shadows.

  Being helpless was a new sensation. She’d survived the streets of Vendonne relying on no one. Shay Lann had thrown up her hands in despair when she couldn’t shape Meara into Vendonne’s version of a proper woman. Being forced to depend on Kieran—an arrogant, bossy male—was infuriating. Fate had yanked her from everything familiar and dropped her here. Now, Kieran had deserted her.

  A shape loomed out of the shadows. Meara screamed and scrabbled backwards. The shape solidified into Kieran’s familiar features. She punched him in the arm and drew her arm back to hit him again.

  “Stop.” He caught her wrist. “Hush.” Kieran let go of her arm and stepped back. “It doesn’t pay to announce your presence in the forest.”

  She kicked a foot at him splattering him with mud and fallen leaves.

  “Fool. It wouldn’t hurt to warn me of your approach. Where were you?”

  He hoisted a longbow.

  “I had to find my pack and bow. I couldn’t bring them with me into the town.” He leaned them both against a tree trunk and dug into the pack pulling out two pieces of dried meat.

  “Here, chew on this. It will give you energy.”

  Meara looked at it suspiciously. “What is it?”

  “Dried mandagar,” he answered.

  “What’s that?” She held the dried meat gingerly between the tips of her fingers and sniffed, wrinkling her nose.

  “Meat, try it.”

  She nibbled an edge and was surprised by its salty flavor. Overcome by hunger, she stuffed it in her mouth.

  Kieran watched her until satisfied that she would eat. He then he tasted his own piece.

  “Where are we?” she asked.

  “A long way from home,” he answered.

  She sniffed and stared at the fire. “Your home maybe. You dragged me from mine.”

  He didn’t reply. Instead, he turned and spread his cloak out next to the fire.

  “Do you plan to sleep here?” she demanded.

  “Why not? It’s as good a place as any,” he said.

  “Must you be so mysterious? Tell me now where we are.”

  Instead of replying, he carried on with his preparations for sleep. Meara glared at him. She wanted answers, not vague responses that satisfied no one.

  A branch snapped outside the rim of light. Meara jumped. She drew her knife and stared hard at the murk. Her heart pounded in her ears.

  “It’s nothing. Go to sleep,” Kieran said and yawned. He’d finished laying out his cloak and was now stretched out facing away from the fire, with his back to her.

  Minutes passed.

  “Kieran,” Meara whispered. No answer. His soft breathing proclaimed he was already asleep or ignoring her. Most likely the latter she decided and sniffed. She pulled her cloak more snuggly around her ears. The reassuring weight of the egg soothed her. It was humming softly. She curled into a ball around it and lay still, her eyes open and watching. The earthy smell of the trees filled her nose. Rolling over, she stared at the flames until sleep claimed her.

  ***

  The dreams crept in, coloring her sleep with shades of murky gray.

  “No, Meara, not that way. Gently. Good. Hold it close in your hand. Let your mind float. You did it! Good girl!”

  Laughter drifted over her. In her sleep, she smiled—a wide beam of contentment.

  “Meara, quickly. We travel with the caravan to the walled town.”

  The voice returned. Love radiated through it. Fragments of words poured through her mind carrying pictures that hung tenuously before fading from her grasp.

  She saw a house nestled in the woods, dappled light shining through thick leaves. A river of faces. A man laughed as he called her name. She ran to him, her arms out, stretched and reaching.

  “I wish you would not go. The way is long, and danger rides with you. At least, leave the child.” The deep voice turned harsh. Meara frowned in her sleep.

  “I must. I cannot refuse him. I owe him that much at least.” The soft voice of the woman whispered over Meara. Was she crying?

  More words, desperate mutterings that held no meaning. Meara mumbled in her sleep, rolling over. The dream trundled on, carrying with it images of a golden woman.

  “Meara, hurry, we must go.”

  The gentle voice wept, torn by a dreaded parting. The man was back, his voice angry and grim.

  “You will return. Do not let him keep you. The child must be safe. She must reach her potential and the prophecy be fulfilled.”

  The dream carried on—a tangled thread of loss and pain—an endless journey.

  “Run, Meara, you must hide! MEARA!”

&nb
sp; Meara bolted upright as a scream ripped from her throat. She fell back panting. Shivering, she huddled under her cloak.

  “It was only a dream. It was only a dream,” she muttered, fighting to push away the terror the nightmare brought. This one was worse, much worse. She rocked back and forth, oblivious to the egg clutched in her arms.

  This time the dream held something new—a face. In the last moment before her eyes snapped open, she had seen the face of the woman. Now that image floated in front of her. The woman’s eyes were wide, her face pale as she screamed. “Hurry, he is coming!”

  Gradually, Meara’s rocking slowed to match her heartbeat. The egg chirped. Its soft heat warmed her. She bent forward, cuddling it closer. Tears trickled down her cheeks. Angrily, she brushed them away with the back of her hand. She looked towards Kieran’s spot by the fire. It was empty.

  Staggering to her feet, she searched the dully-lit clearing for a sign of him. His pack was still at the base of the tree, but the long bow was missing. She circled around the fire trapped by her indecision. Panic chilled her. Had he abandoned her?

  A hand clamped over her mouth.

  “Meara, don’t scream, it’s me. We have to go. He’s coming."

  Chapter 15

  Danger—be wary.

  Wait—watch!

  In the darkness

  pay heed.

  Translated from the Chronicles of the Egg

  Meara’s fingers relaxed their death grip on the egg as Kieran dropped his hand from her mouth.

  “You scared me half to death! Could you not have warned me you were coming?” The words boiled off her tongue.