Daughter of Lightning

by Anna Logan

  A tapping sound drew her attention outward. Had something hit the window? It came again.

  Talea adjusted to her side, looking at the window. One of Kameon’s moons, Jesko, was visible in the night sky. Nothing was amiss.

  Until a small projectile hit the glass, repeating the noise. A pebble. Someone was throwing pebbles at her window. Who? Rando, perhaps come to sweep her off her feet with a midnight visit, came to mind. Not likely. He was working now, just like her, and she doubted he’d be willing to waste either his or her minimal sleep. They hadn’t spoken to one another since the announcement—their last day of school—anyway.

  The stranger, then?

  Her stomach twisted in a knot as she silently rose from the bed, staying out of view of the window. Rando was a much less threatening possibility. She tiptoed toward the outer wall, putting her back to it with her shoulder just touching the windowsill. Another pebble. Talea leaned toward the window until she could peek through it. In the darkness everything was murky, but the form of a person a few feet away was obvious enough.

  Sucking in her breath, Talea closed her eyes again, this time with every intention of thinking. What should she do? If it was the stranger, and if Wylan was right about him, then going out there would practically be suicidal. If she stayed in here, would he take matters into his own hands and come inside? Then he’d probably kill her mother and Brenly while he was at it. At least if it was just her out there, maybe she’d have the chance to defend herself, with the lightning. Or maybe she should wake Brenly up. Except what could Brenly do?

  The realization dawned. Wylan! Maybe it’s Wylan? Almost at the same moment, three pebbles pelted the window at once. Clearly whoever it was had gotten impatient. She slid to stand in front of the window fully and cupped her hands around her face to see better. The figure raised one of his hands, and it started glowing blue. Her relief was tempered with annoyance. Did Sir Secrecy have to come calling at such an unreasonable hour? What happened to meeting at the schoolhouse in the morning? Going out there to talk with him, while not necessarily dangerous, would be scandalous at the highest level. A secret meeting in the middle of the night, when she wasn’t even properly dressed, just the two of them? If her mother found out, Talea would never hear the end of it. If the village found out, it would be the favorite gossip topic for months. Etiquette hardly mattered to her, but the disapproval made her hesitate, even if the likelihood of anyone finding out was slim.

  Outside, Wylan refocused her by waving his arms in the air, as if to ask what was taking her so long.

  Talea pursed her lips. Fine then, Mr. Impatience. Oh, what was a little scandal? Maybe if her mother did find out and the news spread, Talea wouldn’t have to worry about being married off any time soon. As if that were her greatest worry these days. She placed her palms against the bottom of the windowsill and pushed up. Climbing out the window probably wasn’t the easiest way to go about this. That wretched door always creaked, though, and it would undoubtedly alert Brenly or Seles.

  So, window it was. The thing squeaked a bit as she opened it, making her cringe. Brenly, only a few feet away, made no sound. Note to self: Brenly will not be of any help if a certain assassin sneaks in to kill me some night. My, what a cheerful thought. Rolling her eyes at herself, Talea put her knee on the ledge to hoist herself into the opening, where she paused, unsure how to get down with her leg stuck under her. Before she could determine a solution, Wylan grabbed her waist and lifted her out, setting her on the ground.

  She was somewhere between indignant, impressed, and embarrassed as she stood gawking at him. There wasn’t time to settle on just one, because he had already grabbed her sleeve and was dragging her away from the haliop, into the woods outside the meadow.

  Recovering her senses, Talea pulled to a halt not far into the trees, forcing him to stop as well or let go of her. He did the first, looking at her almost questioningly. “Isn’t this far enough?” she whispered.

  He shook his head and indicated where they’d come from. “Your family.”

  That was reasonable enough. This close to the haliop, with the window open, it was possible that anyone awake inside would overhear them. She swallowed and kept close on Wylan’s heels as he delved deeper into the forest. The light of Jesko and the larger moon, Lunmar, wasn’t enough to break through the leafy canopy. Everything was shadowy. Eerie. They weren’t going that fast, yet her heart was beating rapidly.

  Finally, Wylan stopped. Talea hugged her arms to her chest, a chill crawling down her spine as she surveyed the gloomy woods. None of it looked familiar. Surely she’d been in this area, it wasn’t that far from the haliop and she’d done plenty of exploring, but now it seemed alien.

  She nearly jumped when Wylan spoke. “We need to talk.”

  Goosebumps broke out over her skin. The night air was cold and thin, a stark contrast from the humid heat of the day. “Couldn’t we have talked at a better time than, than the middle of the night? I thought we were meeting in the morning.” A bird took to the air with a squawk that did make her jump.

  He was peering at her with what could have been confusion, or skepticism.

  Talea planted her feet. “What?”

  His knit brows instead climbed up his forehead, in what looked like a smirk minus the smile. Heat flamed in her cheeks and tightness gripped her throat. “Stop looking at me like that! If you have something to say, then say it, because I’ve had about enough of standing out here in the cold while you...” she bit down on her tongue to keep from delivering the rest of the speech, jerking her gaze away from his to glare at the ground.

  Wylan, frowning, put his hands in his pockets with his thumbs out. “Your father and brother were drafted?”

  “My father was.” She wet her lips, her irritation with him softened somewhat by the hint of sympathy in the question. “My brother resisted and was flogged instead. They’ll take him and the others that fought in a week.”

  “I’m sorry.” Wylan shifted his weight uncomfortably, but he looked her in the eye as he spoke. “I lost my family a few years ago. I know it’s…what it’s like. And now you’re working and making barely enough to survive on. I’m sorry,” he said again, clearly out of his element.

  Still, he seemed genuine. “Thank you.” Did she dare ask about his family?

  After clearing his throat, Wylan was already continuing. “The assassins I told you about. That’s what I came for, tonight instead of tomorrow. They’re hanging around the village and watching us. I think we should leave, go find the other.”

  Talea returned to staring at him. “What? Leave?”

  A nod.

  “Leave?! I can’t…leave. I have family. And laborers need permission to leave, how on Kameon would I get it?”

  His voice came as cool and monotone as ever. “Those men have been stalking me for years. Now they’re stalking you. If we leave, we will be able to better avoid them, and with the help of the other, perhaps defeat them.”

  She opened her mouth, shut it, and opened it again. “Well…well are you sure they want to kill us? They almost seemed to be protecting me when—”

  Wylan stepping closer with a questioning look made her fall silent. He didn’t say a thing, but obviously he wanted an explanation.

  “The day of the draft,” she said. “They were going to take my father and my brother, and so many others, so…so I…I was going to try and stop it.” He seemed to understand what she meant, so she continued. “That guy grabbed me and didn’t let me do it. He was talking about me not being able to stop it, but someday I could resist Kaydor, or something…then when it was over his so-called co-warrior came, his name was Grrake. They had celiths and rode off.” Since Wylan’s gaze, though no longer on her, was still inquisitive, she added, “He didn’t hurt me at all. Though at one point he did say that if I kept causing trouble he’d have to switch to less-friendly tactics.”

  Relenting his penetrating stare, Wylan turned away, drumming his fingers on his thigh with a thought
ful expression. When he spoke, it was quietly. “Could he have killed you if he’d tried?”

  She imagined the stranger’s grip, his intent posture, the weapons on his belt. “Yes, I suppose so. And everything was chaotic. It would have been unlikely anyone would have noticed. They would have just figured a soldier killed me.” Sure do have the jolliest of conversations, me and Sir Secrecy.

  “Then there’s something else going on,” he mumbled, as if not even speaking to her. His head lifted, signaling some sort of conclusion. “They want us alive. That’s the only explanation. They want us alive for our abilities. Based on what he said to you, they may be trying to rebel against Kaydor, and want to use us for military advantage.”

  This was ridiculous. Simply ridiculous. “But isn’t Kaydor not such a great guy? Wouldn’t that make them, well, good?”

  “Maybe.” Wylan looked away. “But I saw them…” he grit his teeth. “They killed my family. All in order to have access to me. They may be part of a good cause, but they are not good, and I would not join that cause if it involves them.”

  Talea’s stomach twisted again. That explained a lot about Wylan. And it cast the mysterious stranger in a very different light. “I’m…I’m sorry.” It was hard to believe, but not impossible, and she had no reason not to trust Wylan on the matter. Besides, what evidence had the man given her that he wasn’t a murderer? None.

  Neither of them had spoken in several moments now, and it was only reluctantly that she broke the silence with a whisper. “Is leaving our only option?”

  “It’s the only option that makes sense to me. Your family could come. Your mother, and that other girl? A friend?”

  “Brenly, yes, she’s my friend, her uncle was drafted, and she doesn’t have anyone else. What about my brother? Do you think we could…you know…”

  By the way he bit his lip, he did know. “Maybe…it would be risky.”

  “I know.” She sighed. “Listen. No one except Brenly even knows about my ability, or about these assassins. You realize this is insane. It’s illegal for us to leave. And I know it would be risky, but I’m not sure I can just leave my brother…I guess…I need to think about it.”

  “I understand.” He faced her squarely. “I’m going to find the other, and I plan on leaving within a few days. I would like it if you came with me, and I think…” an awkward pause, “I think we should try to use our abilities for good and do something. It’s your decision. Think about it…but we don’t have long.”

  ~♦~

  Yhkon eyed the mansion, a giant shadow in the gloom of night. There was a light in one window only, merely a candle. Perhaps one of the servants on the night shift. He nudged Grrake’s arm. “Ready?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then let’s go.” He sprinted for the building, boots crunching as they crossed the gravel path, then hitting softly on the grass. They were going in the back entrance, used by the servants. The very same that Talea would enter and exit each day. Not much longer. The door was locked, but he had a simple solution for that—a rock banged against the lock a few times. It made some noise. Who cared? Even if the whole household woke up, it wasn’t anything he and Grrake couldn’t handle. He could have done it by himself, if necessary.

  As they entered, a woman in a nightgown was bustling out. He recognized her, though her name escaped him. The housekeeper. Yhkon grabbed her before Grrake could, knowing his friend would try to be diplomatic, and probably make everything more complicated. Better to use intimidation as necessary to get her out of the way. He put his hand over his mouth just before she would have screamed. “You’re going to lead us to the drafted prisoners. Understood?”

  With eyes bulging, gasping for breath, the woman nodded. Yhkon moved his hand from her mouth, waited a moment to see if she would scream, then indicated for her to lead the way. Grrake wore a hood and mask just like he did, yet he knew the man was giving him a concerned, maybe even disapproving look. Oh well, that was nothing new.

  The housekeeper had just led them through a locked door—after fumbling with the keys for several exasperating seconds—when soldiers came running at them. They’d apparently heard his rock breaking their locks. He pushed the woman out of the way and eagerly advanced to meet the onslaught. Five men. Hardly a challenge. Their swords clashed, sharp and ringing in the close quarters of the stone corridor. Yhkon had taken down three before Grrake had even put the housekeeper behind him and caught up to the fight. Together, they dispatched the remaining two in seconds. Clearly they were going the right direction since soldiers had come to meet them, so there was little need for the housekeeper’s guidance. He waved her away. “Go on.”

  All too willing, she fled back the way they’d come. Probably to inform Lord Vissler’s men, but there were only ten of them total, not worth worrying about.

  The corridor opened into a bunker of sorts—some cots, storage, a few chairs around a table. Seven more soldiers, awaiting their arrival, positioned to protect a door across the room. No doubt it led to the prison. They, unlike the first five, had had enough warning to put on some of their armor. A bit more challenge. Good. Yhkon engaged four of them, stabbing one before the fight had even begun. Then it was a simple matter of deflecting and dodging a few strikes and responding with some of his own. His blood was pumping hot with adrenaline, and a fury that drove his sword. It was over too soon.

  Grrake still had one more opponent. He certainly wasn’t in need of help, however, so Yhkon turned his attention to the door. On the other side, fifteen simplistic prison cells. Either they had been hastily manufactured for this very occasion, or they had been an afterthought in the construction of the mansion, not something Vissler intended to use often.

  Seven men, the villagers that had made the most fuss the day of the draft. Naylen among them. Having heard the commotion, they were already alert, and every pair of eyes tracked his movements. He checked to make sure that his hood and mask were still in place to hide his face before stepping into the room where they could see him fully.

  “Who are you?” one asked.

  “Doesn’t matter. What matters,” he held up the ring of keys he had taken from one of the soldiers, “is that I have these.”

  As he was unlocking the first cell, Grrake caught up. “Anyone injured?”

  One man scowled and jerked his thumb toward his back. “You mean aside from the flogging last week?”

  “Well, yes...sorry. Aside from that.”

  Yhkon rolled his eyes. For such an experienced, skilled warrior, Grrake could be so...innocent. It didn’t take long to free the seven men. Naylen he took by the arm when he was out, dragging the kid with him as they started back the way they’d come. Perhaps “kid” wasn’t an accurate description, with only a few years between them...but somehow, Naylen seemed far younger than Yhkon felt.

  “Who are you?” Naylen put minimal effort into trying to escape his grip. “Why are you helping us? Lord Vissler’s men?”

  “No, why would they help you?” he pushed him through a doorway a little more roughly than necessary. “You don’t need to know who we are. What you need to know is—” Footsteps, approaching rapidly. The housekeeper had indeed informed Vissler’s men. He shoved Naylen into a corner. “Stay there. Hey.” When the kid started to move, he kneed him in the chest, just hard enough to daze him. “I said stay.”

  “Yhkon.” Grrake was no doubt frowning at him.

  “Yes I know, I see them.” He said it with a sneer, knowing perfectly well that Grrake was speaking against his treatment of Naylen, not warning him of the oncoming opponents.

  There wasn’t time for Grrake to chide him, or even prolong his disappointed look. Six of Vissler’s men came tumbling down the corridor. Yhkon made sure the rest of the village men were behind him and lunged to meet them. The men weren’t soldiers, but they had some training. They were better at a brawl than a sword fight. They were really Lord Vissler’s minions, on hand to intimidate the villagers when necessary, to act as guards and cha
perones for the Vissler family, to do whatever the lord might bid of them. Puppets, just like the Kaydorians—simply for a far less powerful puppeteer. Once again, they didn’t present enough of a challenge to satisfy his hunger for a fight.

  All six men either dead or decapitated, Yhkon grabbed Naylen again and continued on their way. The kid was being more obliging, now. Either he was frightened into submission, or he had the sense to let things play out. From what Yhkon had observed of Naylen in the past years, most likely the latter. He wasn’t a coward. Maybe an idiot, but not a coward. That, at least, he respected.

  “Listen up.” He addressed all seven of the villagers as they traveled the lower portion of the mansion. “More Kaydorians will be here within days. You can either submit to the draft, fight again and probably get killed this time, or flee the village while you have the chance. If you choose the latter, you better know what you’re doing, or they’ll catch you and kill you for sure.” They’d reached the final door. Outside, the rest of Vissler’s men were waiting in what they thought was an ambush. It was an expected ambush, however, and he and Grrake made quick work of them.

  That was it for Vissler’s men, and they’d already dealt with all the soldiers. One of the villager men eyed the quiet, shadowy night around them. “Why rescue us? If we’re going to get drafted anyway?”

  Yhkon used his sword to give the men a dismissive wave. “What I do and why I do it is none of your concern. Now go. Make your choices.” He considered pointing out that this way, they had the opportunity to say goodbye to their families before they were drafted. But he wasn’t here for gratitude or sentiment.

  Warily, the men started departing. Yhkon caught Naylen’s sleeve. “Not you.”

  Naylen swallowed hard but faced him steadily. “I don’t understand.”

  “There’s a lot of things you don’t understand.” He put his sword back in its scabbard. “What I told the rest applies to you too, but I don’t care what they do. You, on the other hand—you leave. Understand that? Get out of the village. Quickly. Unless you wanted to be drafted, and trust me, you don’t.”