AshesAndBlood

by Katie Zaber

  The daggers we had expected, not the lightning.

  Sparks and hisses crackle from a ball of electricity floating between Brynjar’s hands. The sparky tendrils resemble a plasma globe from a science museum. Bright purple to dark violet bursts of energy glow, ready to electrocute, but are cradled in his hands. He stands taller, younger, and more muscular than the normal old man I know. The only thing familiar about him is the grimace on his face.

  What is he? How can he change so fast?

  As his light ball extinguishes, he grows smaller until he’s normal sized. He sneers as the last of the light diminishes, and his face pales. A grim, violent expression makes his brow scrunch and the veins in his neck pulse. His gray eyes reflect vengeance and fury. I don’t know who Brynjar is, but he’s powerful, and maybe, hopefully, he’s on our side.

  “Megan!”

  All three girls scream breathy cries as they stumble to their feet, racing to where she last stood. Tears cover their faces. Even Sarah cries, although she looks ready to kill. Dana’s eyes zone out and then she hangs her head as she repeats Megan’s name. Ciara rocks back and forth on her heels, sobbing.

  There’s no reason for me to go to them, besides to comfort Dana. Instead, Xander, Tristan, and I give Brynjar a grueling stare. We haven’t slept in the last couple of days. We can hardly function after all the attacks without explanation. To save my cousin and then sit by helplessly as a Fae took her to face certain death. To know her fate and that I can’t lessen her pain. To realize Brynjar isn’t who he seems. That he is a complete stranger.

  I struggle to stay sane.

  Brynjar watches me. The normal wrinkles spread across his face, returning him to his appropriate age. He raises his hands and the three of us retreat backward, blocking him from the girls. His hands and shoulders drop. “Sorry. I wanted to explain once Megan finished.”

  “What are you? Have you… since you first found me?” I ask.

  “Yes. I’m a Druid,” Brynjar says.

  Xander and Tristan stand dumbfounded, mouths hanging open in shock.

  “Bring her back! Do something!” Sarah screams. Demonic black eyes glare at Brynjar. They’ve replaced—temporarily, I hope—her normal rich chocolate brown eyes.

  “I can’t. He was a Royal Guard for King Taliesin. There’s nothing I can do.”

  “What did he do to us?” Xander asks.

  “Powerful Fae can make you feel… powerless. Only powerful Fae or Druids can counter their influence. More questions, little answered. We need to leave. I need to talk to… people. Pack. We leave within the hour.”

  “What if he comes back? We can’t fight. You can! Stay!” Ciara is hysterically crying as she screams at him, her words becoming jumbled between sobs. Steady streams of tears make a trail down her blotchy, red face.

  Brynjar kneels in front of her. She’s rocking on her heels, but that doesn’t deter him from placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. Her motion ebbs. “My dear, I barely moved my hand. I can’t fight a Royal Guard. They’re too strong.”

  He stands and then gives us a somber nod before walking out of the house faster than I have ever seen him move.

  Ciara flops onto her side, whimpering. Tristan runs to her after he sheaths the two daggers stuck in the wall. He sits behind her, rubbing her back in small circles. It must calm her. He may have to peel her off the floor and carry her away.

  Meanwhile, Xander is lucky he hasn’t received a black eye. Sarah is swinging wildly at him as he tries to coax her to move. He wraps his arms around her tight. She winds her head back, ready to head butt his nose, but she gives up at the last second and cries into his chest instead.

  “Sarah,” he says, holding her tight.

  She pushes out of his arms. He offers his hand to help her up, but she refuses. Pissed, she storms up the stairs and he follows. Neither mutter another word.

  Tristan can’t get Ciara to sit. She lies on her side, her fingers tracing the burnt wood. He whispers something into her ear. She responds in sobs.

  I try the same tactic Xander used. Scooping Dana into my arms, she resists for a second, kicking and hitting, but I won’t let her wriggle free. She weighs nothing, she’s as light as a pillow.

  “Dana, we have to go. Please.”

  “I won’t leave her. No! She’ll come back. She has to. What if she returns and we aren’t here?” Dana cries.

  “We’ll leave her a message, one only she’ll understand. Come on, we have to hurry.”

  Nestled into my chest, Dana takes a deep breath. She holds it in and then releases slowly. Her messy blonde hair sticks to her tears. I brush it back. My fingers glide over her puffy red cheeks. I want to say something, anything that will stop her tears, but I can barely speak.

  Megan—what pain and suffering she will endure? I couldn’t save her. I couldn’t do anything. Hugging Dana, I stifle the tears. I don’t want her to see me cry. She needs me to stay strong. After a few moments of burying my face in her hair, I ease my hold enough to see her beautiful face. She brushes her fingertips under my swollen eyes and bites her lip.

  “Can you finish packing our bag? I’ll pack food, help Ciara,” Dana says. She takes a deep breath and wipes her eyes. She allows me to help her stand. Somehow, she gives me a small, tight-lipped smile and turns to Ciara. Kneeling by her friend’s hand, she gently pulls it, stopping it from tracing the singed green floor. They hold hands in silence before Dana says, “Come. Help me decide which food to pack.”

  Eyebrows raised, Ciara gulps, and tears flood her face. “I can’t. I can’t think. Why didn’t it kill me?”

  “I don’t know, but the longer we stay alive, the better chance we have in rescuing Megan. Come on, let’s pack the food.”

  Gradually, Ciara sits with Dana’s help. Tristan brings her to her feet. Ciara nods, mumbling, “We have to save Megan.”

  Tristan doesn’t respond. He’s most dangerous when silent. He wears a poker face, eyes distant, most likely weighing our options. Who to trust, who to blame, who to protect ourselves from, and how to keep the women we love safe.

  I don’t want to lie to Dana, but we won’t find Megan, and she will never come back. I won’t give hope when death waits. I don’t want to imagine what they plan for my cousin. The kinds of sick torture; how they will use her until she’s broken and then throw her away. Forget to feed her until she dies. I wish I could have done something. All I can hope for is that she dies fast.

  “I’ll be back in a minute to help with the kitchen. Are you packed?”

  Tristan shakes his head no. “I’ll stay with them. When you return, I’ll pack.”

  I nod and climb the stairs, possibly for the last time. Never to sleep in our bed again, or to wake up to the sunrise, cuddled between sheets in a home built with care. I thought we’d live here for a couple years. Never had I thought we’d spend less than a week settled before leaving. I grab us two blankets and two bed mats, along with the backpacks Dana prepped. The packs feel heavy, like they are filled with rocks. The weight sinks me into the floor, making it hard to pull myself away, to leave what has become home.

  It’s such a weird thought. I spent years aching to return home, to Earth, but this is home. The property, the smithy, the town of Capo. I feel sick that I’m forced to leave—I like it here. It’s my home, more than I ever realized. I take one last look at the bedroom before shutting the door.

  ***

  Tristan left the kitchen when I entered. He was looking lethal, his face was solemn, and his eyes distant. But at the same time inspecting every aspect around him, looking for threats in every corner. His right hand was hanging loose by his long, curved blade, which he has now sheathed on his belt. He normally keeps them all hidden. The other hand was posed to throw one of his throwing blades. Both of his hands are eager to protect, to kill.

  Ciara cracks her knuckles every minute while Dana organizes the knapsack’s worth of food. Dana tries to distract Ciara, involving her with packing food, but she zones out half the t
ime, then twitches back to reality, finding her knuckles.

  I’m almost positive we’re going to Brynjar’s cabin. It will be close to dawn when we leave, so we won’t have to worry about nunda. While the girls gather food, I think of questions for Brynjar.

  Who he is? Where is he from? What was his role during the war? Who are his contacts? Do more Druids live in Capo? Did he throw the light bomb in front of Megan? I don’t know what she saw that night, but a plasma ball of electricity looks damn close to a light bomb. If he didn’t, who did?

  Brynjar is a total stranger. He never told me anything about himself. He never spoke about his parents, where he grew up, or why he never had a family. Absolutely nothing. Not a single word about his past. What did he do? Is he evil or is he hiding from evil? He’s been my father figure for eight years. He taught me how to survive and how to live again. It feels wrong not to trust him, but how can I?

  “I’ll help Tristan pack,” Ciara says, leaving Dana and me alone in the kitchen.

  “Kevin, what else should we bring?” Dana asks. Her sea-green eyes are bloodshot and tear-soaked. I never want Dana to cry. She’s too amazing to be sad. She’s too strong to break, too courageous to cry, too perfect to feel pain.

  So was Megan. Tears form in my eyes. It’s hard distracting my mind from her loss. Everything keeps circling back to her. The tears in Megan’s eyes, her grasping the Fae’s hand—that’s all I can picture. Is she dead now or have they not begun to torture her?

  I don’t want Dana to cry again, but it’s hard not to scream on the top of my lungs or shed tears for Megan, taken by a deranged psychopath. I want to cry and yell for all the pain she must be enduring. Endlessly abused by soldiers until her body is too mutilated, until she’s dead.

  My stomach flops. I can’t believe I sit here, wishing for her death. How did everything become so twisted? So wrong?

  She should be alive and happy with Bill. I can close my eyes and picture her right behind me in jean overalls with a big sunflower patch on the front, cinnamon hair wild like she was, and covered head to toe in mud. She would chase after my friends and me, never confined indoors or playing girly games. She hated dress up, dolls, and cooking. Inside wasn’t where she belonged. My sister, Emily, would never play in the mud. She hated nature, but Megan loved it. Emily followed me at home and Megan was my shadow in the woods.

  “Kevin?”

  Soft fingers grace my face, wiping away my tears. I don’t want to open my eyes. I don’t want to see Dana cry again. It hurts too much on top of everything.

  “I’m so sorry. I—I couldn’t save her.” I open my eyes to find hers shining wet, but she doesn’t cry.

  Her tiny arms wrap around me. “You can’t blame yourself. It’s frustrating. It’s unfair. It’s wrong, but it’s not your fault. If it’s anybody’s fault, it’s Brynjar’s. If we talked last week, things might be different. I don’t know. We may never know. But we can’t focus on regret. We need to focus on our future. Staying alive. She sacrificed herself to keep us safe. We have to honor her and try.”

  She holds me as I stifle tears. We need to move. We have to be strong. I must keep Dana alive. She’s right: It is his fault for not being honest last week. He should have said something. Anything.

  “We’ll get answers. I will make sure of that. I want to punch him, but he shoots lightning. I—I don’t know him anymore.”

  “Don’t say that. He tried to protect us even if he lied. He loves you like a son. Just no more secrets. It’s time for the truth.”

  ***

  Brynjar arrived right as Dana finished packing the kitchen supplies. Sarah, Xander, Tristan, and Ciara came down the stairs, each saying goodbye to the house we barely lived in. Dana visited each room before reluctantly putting on her cloak, ready to leave. Forty minutes or so after it took Megan, we walked under the archway and onto Smith Street, heading for the North Gate. Dana turned to stare at the property, pausing for a moment. Tears formed in her eyes before she shook her head and continued with the group.

  The walk to his cabin was silent. Everyone was deep in thought and mourning. Beyond tired, we staggered up the trail like zombies. Brynjar also requested silence on our way to his cabin. We were too tired to fight, or maybe too scared. We knew we would get answers, his defeated tone signaled it. So we didn’t push. Our own thoughts consumed us, everyone busy organizing questions and planning what to do next.

  Quietly, we settled into the miniature cabin, relieved we made it without incident. We all were exhausted enough to pass out. We hurled our bags into the tiny space. Xander and I moved the table outside to make room to spread out our bed mats. Everybody wants to sleep, but we won’t be able to without answers. Within minutes of our arrival, we sit in another circle, except this time, everyone’s eyes are on Brynjar.

  “Before he explains, should we say something?” Xander asks.

  “What do you want to say, Xander?” Sarah squints. Her hands are turning into fists and her words drip with venom.

  “I thought we should say something, for Megan.”

  Three voices in unison berate Xander. His eyes widen. He didn’t realize the response he’d receive. Xander looks at Tristan and me for help as the women attack. Their wails of anger, frustration, and desperation are aimed directly at him. It’s pent-up rage without someone to take it out on, and Xander made himself a perfect target.

  “She won’t come back. Rescue is impossible. I’m sorry.”

  They all stop and glare at Brynjar for uttering those words—the truth. Something I struggle with myself. Something I’m not entirely ready to face. I’m not ready to say goodbye. Crickets are the only sound above their muffled sobs. I can’t focus on Megan. I have to concentrate on what I can do. The people I can save.

  “Start from the beginning.” I don’t want to talk about Megan. I’m not ready.

  “Where to begin? It will never end.” Brynjar speaks to nobody, murmuring under his breath. His weary hands comb through his hair. In the morning light, it looks like he aged ten years since he admitted he is, in fact, a Druid.

  “I’m a Druid. I’ve lived in Capo my whole life. Had a wife and two girls. They’re gone. This world doesn’t function as it appears. Most people in Capo hide. Capo is a safe town for Druid families. Fae had attempted, once again, to kill all the Druids during the last war. We were forced into hiding again, but we continue to fight The Silent War. The coastal communities know more of the dangers. They understand our lives live on the balance of a blade. Secrets keep us alive.”

  “How many Druids live in Capo?” Tristan asks. He never met his father.

  “Many. Humans descend from Druids. Druids moved to Capo and other towns like it for protection. Soldiers, spies, the wise and most powerful Druids form the council in Capo. They have resources outside of town, informants collecting valuable knowledge. We pour drugs—reen—into the wells and alcohol to hide any Druidic abilities. You all might be powerful, but won’t know until it wears off. I’m unsure what effect our world has on humans from yours.

  “Megan isn’t in danger, not yet. The king sent his personal knight to fetch her unscathed. He could have killed us but didn’t. King Taliesin wants or needs her for something. His main fortress is in Sunce, Paradise Kingdom. That’s southeast from here, in the middle of a Fae-only region. We should wait till I receive further word.”

  “We should save Megan! We need to go after her!”

  I love Dana’s spirit, her fight, her courage, but it’s clearly a suicide mission.

  “Impossible. Maybe with an army, but the Paradise fortress is impenetrable. Slicing, instant travel—how the Royal Guard took Megan—is the only way in. Only certain powerful Fae can slice. Their sole job is to retrieve and vacate for the king. The fortress has no doors, no entrances, and no exits besides grappling steep walls or jumping out a high window. Mazes of multiple floors and corridors zigzag throughout the whole city fortress and are made entirely of solid white stone. Every hallway is identical. People who li
ve there regularly get lost.

  “No. We should wait and discover their plans. We are safe. I have placed protective wards on my cabin against Fae. Also on the house. The new barn house wasn’t. That’s how he got in. Setting proper wards takes time, months. I warded the cabin before the war, and I add more wards often. No Fae can discover or destroy the cabin.”

  “Why should we trust you?” Sarah’s coal eyes peek out behind onyx hair, giving Brynjar a hard glare.

  “You don’t need to. Look around. You’ll find answers. Veterans—men—make up seventy percent of the population of Capo. That’s the real reason the gender populations are skewed. The plague was an easy way to cover the gender imbalance. Fighters, builders, able-bodied men inhabit the town with what’s left of their families. There’re signs. Open your eyes.”

  “The plague was a cover? My parents—we lost our family during the plague!” Xander stands, pacing back and forth. He gets touchy about his parents’ death. He feels responsible.

  “It killed many families, too many. Everyone lost during that time of death, but death brings life. No one planned the disease, but we found benefits. The death of many made Capo a safe space for Druid families. Druids are born daily. When parents realize their child has powers, they move to a safe town. Every few decades, Fae start a war against humans for some petty matter. Their main goal is to kill everyone with Druid traits. They try to exterminate us, but they never succeed.

  “For now, the Fae won. We are under their rule. Leaders of human cities made deals. They gave up and killed their own people to end the war. From the outside, the Sliabh and Dumont region appear Fae free. Dumont elects a human government yearly, but it’s an illusion. The new king, King Taliesin, controls all. He creates seas of death that resemble mud but are deadly to the touch. He killed many good men and innocent people. King Taliesin controls every aspect of Dargone. He wants to control all of Dalya.”