AshesAndBlood

by Katie Zaber

  It’s also another thing keeping me awake at night, thinking about where all those spiders are now. Brynjar’s told me multiple times the spiders protect us and they won’t bother us. But with how thick the webbing is on the roof, his words aren’t comforting. The spiderweb roofing only adds to my paranoia. Any time I happen to doze off and I wake from an itch, I think it’s one of those fuckers, crawling on my skin, searching for my mouth, nose, or ears. I’ll never truly fall asleep in that spider-infested cabin.

  I had never pictured Brynjar being a Druid. Maybe an ogre or troll because of how he speaks in grunts, but not a Druid. We had spent years together, banging on raw materials, bending them to our will, creating everyday objects, and now I know why it was so easy for him. He used his powers on the raw elements. No wonder he was never tired after hours of work. It boggled my mind that he didn’t look exhausted when I wanted to collapse. Lazy ass. He could have helped me with my work. He taps into what I’d call Mother Nature’s power.

  More and more things make more sense. Like the garden in the courtyard. I never watered, planted seeds, or tended it, but huge fruits and vegetables always grew. I also never saw him take care of it, but it grew naturally for him. We didn’t need to do anything. He told it what to do, and it listened. He said he is primarily a healer, but can use his powers to fight. He even hinted that Druids live longer than humans live and can equal Fae with their powers.

  Brynjar fought alongside Fae during the last major war. He said most of them want to live in harmony with humans. They don’t agree on everything, but they all want peace. All they want is a safe place to raise their families without living in fear. He said Fae aren’t good or bad, they are people. Those in power will always try to manipulate situations to better themselves, but ordinary Fae live normal lives and want to end the war. They want to live in peace with all who inhabit Dargone, working together instead of against.

  He spoke with passion, respect, and honor. I could tell he was a soldier back then by how he operated. Always punctual. I knew someone had trained him and instilled military qualities into him. But never had I thought he truly loved anything or anyone. Yeah, I knew on some level that he had cared for me, but the way he spoke about the rebels and his fellow Druids, the pride and love resonated in his voice.

  Tristan and Xander had never heard of a Druid alive. They have heard stories about great Druids fighting and defeating Fae in battle, but they had always thought they were stories, nothing more. Xander’s father told them tales during cold winter nights when they were confined to their small apartment while storms dumped heaps of snow across Capo. The stories comforted them and made them feel strong while they waited, unsure if Fae froze their town or if it was another blizzard.

  When Brynjar revealed his power after the Fae stole Megan, both Xander and Tristan took a moment to respond. Their shared look was shit, we’re in so much trouble. Their faces paled almost the same way when the freak Fae blizzard happened. Except with Brynjar’s revelation there was a gleam of hope in their eyes instead of death, even if on some level they were pissed at him.

  I guess for them, hearing about Druids saving the world your whole childhood, then meeting one, is comparable to meeting Superman. I can’t imagine how it feels to meet a superhero.

  Brynjar’s appearance has changed. He looks tired, but weirdly younger and taller. His eyes beam wisdom beyond comprehension. Normally his eyes are dull, gray, and lifeless, but when he talks about his past, they brighten and he looks more alive since the night we met. He even sounds like a different man, not the one who gave me a place to stay eight years ago.

  Now it makes sense. He didn’t see a kid from another world, lost and alone. He saw himself. It explains why he helped me. He knows what it’s like to be alone. Even my rage against him has calmed. He tried to protect us, even if we didn’t see it. It’s easy to say he could have saved time and admitted he’s a Druid. But it would have been like me telling everyone I’m not from this world. No one would have believed him, and everyone would have thought he was crazy. He came to protect us. Warding the entire property in Capo, the smithy and house, had protected us more than we will ever know. It kept us alive during the Fae blizzard.

  That’s the reason the Fae attack happened on the street and not on our property. If Megan had run straight into the yard, the wards would have helped her. The real mystery is who threw the light ball that blinded but saved her. Brynjar swears it wasn’t him. He asked his connections, but no one in town knows who intervened.

  As for the Mara, he had basic wards on the house against them, but nothing on the barn house. He believes the Mara came from someone powerful because it crossed the house wards, which is enough to keep out normal spirits. Brynjar was working on other wards for the barn house for what he thought would be more troublesome and didn’t expect a Mara to attack Megan.

  That scares the shit out of me. What other things did he expect would attack before a nightmare spy? What other things can haunt or kill?

  I asked Brynjar, and he responded by grumbling. I heard him say mumble, mumble stupid idiot, mumble, mumble before a hawk settled down on his arm, arriving with a message close to dawn the first night we spent at his cabin. He sends messages while at the cabin but he doesn’t write the message; he speaks to the bird, and the bird squawks, then flies away to deliver them. When it has a message, Brynjar’s eyes go white while he listens, but no one else can hear.

  He said the Druids can’t anticipate the new heir’s personality, and that makes them worry. They don’t know if she will follow in the king’s footsteps, continuing a tyrannical rule, or bring peace to the land. All he knows for sure is that she disrupted the succession to the throne, pissing off her cousin and causing conflict.

  Most are rumors, nothing factual. He said he needed time to figure out the truth and discard what’s fabricated. He is certain King Taliesin introduced Princess Mealla at a royal ball and that she doesn’t act like royalty. Rumor is she’s a peasant from across the ocean. There’s no information relative to our situation. Nothing on a human named Megan. I didn’t think we’d hear anything. They keep their victims locked up, hidden from the light of day.

  God, it kills me to think about her and what hell she endures. Her screams add to Brian and Dave’s when I close my eyes. I can’t understand why he only took Megan. Dana, Ciara, and Sarah are all beautiful woman. He should have taken all of them. Why was Megan singled out? The Fae could have killed us, but it didn’t. Nothing makes sense.

  “Lunch ready?” Xander asks, coming out of the woods with Sarah following behind him. They must have explored the opposite side of the cabin.

  “Yes. What were you up to?” Tristan knows exactly what they were doing.

  “Oh you know, exploring the area around the cabin. Learning about different plant life, animal species, and different trees,” Sarah says. The back of her short black hair is ruffled. That’s not how she left the cabin.

  “Find anything interesting?” I ask Xander. I love to fuck with him.

  His face flushes. “Showed Sarah the woods. It’s good for her to know which plants are poisonous and edible, and which ones can heal.”

  “Smart. We should all learn what’s poisonous and not.” I can’t argue with logic.

  The girls head inside to plate lunch. I might actually be able to eat.

  “We want to be here if Megan returns, but we can’t stay much longer,” Xander says after the girls go inside. “We have to leave before winter.”

  “One more week in case we hear anything,” I say.

  Tristan raises his eyebrows and asks, “Do you think Megan could be a Fae princess? You knew her parents. They were your aunt and uncle.”

  “It makes zero sense for Megan to be Mealla. But the timing gets me. Fuck, I don’t know what to believe or think.” I can still picture the fear on her face before she was taken and how useless I felt, unable to save her. The guilt is hard to live with.

  “The timing is odd, but her parents?”
Tristan questions again.

  “They are human, but if the town of Capo can hide Druids, why not a Fae on Earth? I don’t know. Her dad is dead. Our moms are sisters, so if they are Fae, then I am too, but that makes even less sense. We wait one more week for any more news.”

  “Agreed, one more week. Then we head southwest. Somewhere safe and far away. Maybe near the ocean?” Tristan suggests.

  “The ocean? That’s farther than I was thinking. You want to leave Sliabh?” Xander asks as if traveling that far hasn’t crossed his mind. Neither of them has ever left the Sliabh region. Hell, the farthest either has traveled was two nights away from Capo while on a hunting trip.

  “I vote for sandy beaches. It’s where I grew up. I miss the sand, water, and the smell.” I can easily picture a couple huts on a beach on the outskirts of a town. We could go fishing daily. Grow a garden big enough to feed all of us. It would be heaven.

  “What if Megan is Mealla?” Tristan asks.

  I sigh. I’ve already come to terms with thinking she’s dead. To think she’s a Fae princess drives me insane. It’s a thought I can barely comprehend. “We leave another sign. She can follow them toward the Gold Coast. We can’t rescue her from the castle and we can’t stay here all winter. We’ll starve—and go crazy in this tiny space.”

  “If Megan is Mealla, and she needs to hide, the Gold Coast will be her best option besides ours. One more week. Then we leave a message. I won’t let them take Ciara,” Tristan says, not in a threatening tone, but stating a mere fact. He won’t lose her.

  I look at Dana; she’s talking to the girls. Her sea-green eyes shine. She looks happier than before we left the cabin. She flicks a stray hair behind her ear and catches me spying on her. And then, she smiles just for me.

  I know how Tristan feels. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to keep Dana alive and happy.

  Nothing.

  Chapter Twenty-Five - Megan

  He finished the dessert pie in silence. None of the sugary goodness could tempt me, I lost my appetite long before dessert. I was nauseous the rest of the meal, unsure how to feel, what to do, how to react from the emotional roller-coaster ride of lunch. The rolling waves and cawing birds accompanied the only other noise of the king, scraping his utensils across his plate. The sound irritates me and makes me cringe. He did it on purpose to make me uncomfortable and on edge. Psychological warfare will never work on him. He’s mastered the art. I am merely an apprentice, a novice in the fine art of manipulation and he is a grandmaster with over five hundred years of practice.

  We never summoned the guards back. We simply got up and made plans to dine as a family, aunt and cousins included after my trip to Barne. There was no further discussion about his power, his family, what happened when he arrived back in Paradise Kingdom, nothing else. I’m certain every word spoken by him is a lie, an exaggerated truth, a fabricated reality only he can understand.

  Before opening the door to part ways, he held out his arms, waiting for an embrace. Part of me wanted to slit his throat or stab him in the back, the other half knew I would fail. So, I hugged him. I hugged the monster, and he hugged me back. Tears flooded my eyes as I stood, fighting the urge to scream. He felt like my dad, smelled like him, but it wasn’t. He’s dead. The man I hugged is a reanimated corpse. A zombie of my dad, being possessed by an evil dictator.

  I know my enemy. It’s not Manadhon. It’s not any of the guards, not even my cousins, or my wicked aunt. It’s him, my father, the king who would order me dead.

  I cried because I hugged my executioner.

  Manadhon and I walk back to my room in silence. I am afraid to speak. Afraid who would hear and how much I would ramble, unable to stop talking, crying, screaming if I got started. I try to keep my emotions balanced, neutral. I wonder what Manadhon senses, if he knows my emotions fuel an explosion ready to detonate as I walk up the stairs, stopping to exchange pleasantries with other nobles. We chat about the beautiful weather. I smile, laugh, and act as if nothing is wrong while my stomach boils and my chest feels too heavy to breathe. Every step I take feels like the solid, perfect white blocks of stones are closing in. The endless hallway becomes narrower and longer. My heart pounds faster with each step.

  Manadhon opens my bedroom door. Once inside my room with the door shut, he asks, “What’s wrong?”

  My lips won’t move. I’m shaking, having trouble breathing, hyperventilating. I fight to gain control over my breathing. I close my eyes and attempt to calm down.

  “What happened?”

  “Nothing. Confirmation. He isn’t my dad. There’s no part of him left, just his shell. He made it clear I either follow willingly or die. He only answered a few questions, but it leads to more questions or…” I crumble upon the seashell lounge. I wish my body would fall apart, disintegrating into a million pieces, scattering across the world, and never put back together again. I can’t be here anymore. I can’t live in the castle. My options are escape or die. I need to make a plan.

  “What happened?”

  “Manadhon, I can’t… I can’t stay here. He will kill me. Without doubt. I’m only unsure when. I need to leave.”

  His molten silver eyes become slits. They look dull and all the shine is gone. The diagonal scar above his eye wrinkles the entire length of it, to his earlobe. “You have a plan?”

  “Is it safe to tell you? I’m no fool. I know you keep an eye on me, possibly befriending me to learn more about me, reporting everything back to the king. A spy.”

  His hands curl into fists, his mouth twists into a sneer.

  “I’m a prisoner and a princess. You’re my captor, bodyguard, and assassin. Prove me wrong.”

  A blank stare is all I receive. I may have offended him, but it’s true and he can’t deny it.

  “Never mind. I need to get ready to travel to the town of Barne. I’m supposed to watch and learn how to punish my subjects. Excuse me while I prepare.”

  I storm to the clothing racks and tear through them, throwing clothes, trying not to pay attention to Manadhon or that he stared at me for a few moments before taking his leave. I refused eye contact since he couldn’t answer me. The one person here I thought sympathetic to my position. He couldn’t answer. He couldn’t tell me the ugly truth. He couldn’t speak it. Once he’s gone, I slink to the floor and cry alone, hidden under a clothing rack like a child lost in a department store, except I want no one to find me.

  Delicate footsteps enter the room. Kilyn tiptoes around, sure I came in, but she doesn’t know where I am. She stops a few feet away, curious of the clothes strewn on the floor. I wipe my tears and compose myself. This is not how I want her to see me. I need to be strong and not cower. I should have never involved her. I wish I had never stumbled upon her room. My attempt to help her, to save her life, will be an utter failure. Because she knows me, she is going to be killed. Ignorance makes me worse than my father. I make promises, preach optimism, raise your spirits, and then destroy your life without intention.

  After I hear Kilyn’s footsteps retreat to her room and the door close, I creep out of the clothing rack. To my astonishment, laying on the shell lounge are pants, khaki-colored with belt loops. I trace my fingers over them, shocked to see such an article of clothing here. With my spirits lifted, I search for a top to wear. I don’t want to bother Kilyn and would rather be alone right now. Browsing through the clothes, I find a sage riding habit. It resembles a quarter-sleeved hooded dress with a split up the middle, making it easier to ride in. On the hanger next to the riding habit is a brown leather belt. I keep my hair in the same long braid Kilyn had done earlier, not worrying about the silver strands still in it.

  While sitting at the vanity, I notice a velvet jewelry box that wasn’t there before lunch. I carefully open the box; a trap can disguise itself as a gift. Inside rests a large boulder opal strung on a leather cord. The opal is the size of my fist. It flashes vibrant greens, chocolate browns, creams, and gold. It’s identical to the one in my memories, except large
r. Just like the one Dad bought before he died. That opal turned to dust. It should have happened to Dad too. Another trick and test from the king. As I hang it around my neck, it feels much heavier than it looks, but it completes the outfit.

  Ready to leave, I decide to go knock on Kilyn’s door.

  She opens the door, her purple eyes as big as viola flowers, her face innocent and naïve.

  “Kilyn, if I had to leave Sunce and Paradise Kingdom, would you come with me? I can’t promise it would be safe, but I’d try to take care of you.”

  She stares at me, baffled by my question and completely unprepared to answer. Her purple eyes dart around the room in search of a spy. Some confirmation that this is a test. She finds nothing. “Why would you need to go?”

  “Many reasons. Would you like to go with me?”

  “Yes. Even if not safe. I want to be outside again. Run barefoot through the grass.”

  “When was the last time you were outside?”

  “I can’t remember,” Kilyn says.

  I don’t know how to respond. If she can’t remember, has it been years, decades? “Pack two bags, one for each of us with travel clothing. Something easy to move in and warm. Keep them hidden in a rack of clothes. Also, the jewelry. Pack anything of value to trade.”

  Timid, she nods. “How will we escape?”

  “Leave that to me.”

  She nods once again and then busies herself packing.

  While Kilyn packs, I decide to speak to Manadhon.

  After the second knock, he greets me with a scowl and opens the door wide enough to allow me into his simple room. It’s indistinguishable from Kilyn’s. A wooden bed, dresser, table, and chair. No window. The only light is a blue lantern sitting on the table. The room lacks personality; no reflection of who lives here.