AshesAndBlood

by Katie Zaber

  But no. No one will listen to me. Brynjar, the one man I thought sensible, reasonable, and smart, acts like their old pals. How can he act like that? He isn’t even that friendly with Tristan and Xander. He doesn’t even talk to Miki Connor like that. It boggles my mind that he can bury the hatchet of him almost killing all of us. Yeah, I get it. He didn’t kill us, but he threatened it. And I don’t like to be threatened.

  But no. No matter how much I protest, I am outnumbered and looking like an asshole. Not that I’m not, but I don’t think I’m crazy to be a little skeptical about Megan’s so-called bodyguard. After much debate, mainly from me, everyone decided that he would slice us men into town, I’d remove his torc, and then we would gather supplies before hauling ass to the coast.

  I don’t want to sound racist against Fae, and I would have never said anything bad about them before, but that all changed since the blizzard and the various attacks, on top of Megan being kidnapped. I don’t trust them—especially him. Kilyn, I’m fine with. She’s young and hasn’t been molded into a killer, and to see her just as terrified of us as we are of her really opens my eyes. But nothing. Absolutely nothing will make me trust him.

  For the moment, the tables have turned. He’s trusting me. We’re in my old workshop surround by all the tools of what was my trade. A wall of hammers with various peens, pliers of all different sizes, chisels with different ends, files of various grades, brushes, jars of oils, and buckets of scrap. I don’t think I’ll ever forget how to forge metal, but I’m not sure what my job is anymore. This has been my life for the last eight years, melting ore, drawing out the metal, hammering, bending, upsetting, cooling, and repeating the process over and over again. I can’t help but feel this might be the last time I will stand in this workshop. The fact that the forge is ice cold only makes me feel worse. When Brynjar and I used to work together, it was always blazing hot and dark inside. It was where we made our ideas come to life.

  Brynjar mentioned something about seeing his friend Miki today to give him all of our paperwork, which isn’t much more than the deed to the property. It’s better to have someone we know and trust hold on to it rather than it collecting dust in the cabin while the property is auctioned. There are plenty of properties in Capo to choose from, but only one has two houses with one large enough to be an inn, a standalone forge, and a large courtyard.

  He left moments after we sliced to the abandoned house across the street from the barn house. The four of us went to the forge to remove Mana’s neck—I mean torc—and he went to settle business. Afterward, we are to go to the market, get what we need, and then meet Brynjar back at the abandoned house so Mana can slice us to the cabin.

  I still think we could have walked back and forth, but everyone said this would be faster, among other things.

  “How strong is this metal?” Xander asks Mana, grunting as he tries to twist his end of the torc.

  I have pliers on my end, trying to twist the other way. It’s impossible to bend it while the cords of metal are braided together, but when you untwist them, it makes the metal easier to bend and take off. In practice anyway. In reality, the metal they made this out of is stronger than any of the ones I’ve ever used. “What is this made of?”

  “Gold and a shiny gray metal combined called Gotanium.”

  I grunt and release the pliers, taking a break. As much as I’m fighting every impulse to snap his neck—Megan would be pissed—I’m actually trying to get this thing off him without tearing off his head, but the torc won’t budge.

  “What if we heated it?” Tristan asks.

  “While it’s on him?” I turn to look at him. Tristan shrugs.

  I look back at Mana. “Do you know anyone who has removed their torc before?”

  “Only when they remove their head,” Mana says. “Anyone else who removed it and lived has disappeared, keeping their secrets. I thought it was hard to take off but not impossible.”

  Xander looks down at the pliers in his hands. “What if we just heat the ends and twist them?”

  “Again, while he’s wearing it? I’m all for burning him but I’m not sure he’d like it.”

  Tristan leans against the counter and gives us a bored look.

  “Well, you can always go get the supplies if you’re not going to help,” I grumble.

  “No,” Mana states. “I don’t know if the streets are watched. I can slice us back to the cabin if we are attacked. Can’t do that if we separate.” He grabs the stubborn torc. “Heat up the pliers.”

  “You’re not serious.” I shake my head. “That’s going to burn like a bitch and it will leave a scar.”

  “Add it to the collection,” Mana says, blinking and making the scar between his eye and ear stretch.

  Tristan tilts his head. “I was only joking. You don’t want to leave a mark around your neck, it will still bring attention to you. Possibly brand you as a traitor.”

  Without thinking, I rub my own scar. “Let’s give it one more try. Lie down on the cot on your side. I’m going to push down on the lower torc and hope I don’t rip your head off.”

  Mana pauses to consider his neck being torn apart, but thinks about the other options and moves over to the old, musty cot. Xander stands behind him, using the pliers to hold the torc in place. He nods, signaling he’s ready. Mana locks his eyes onto me, while Tristan stands with a goofy grin like he’s being entertained.

  “All right. On three. One. Two. Three.” I crush the pliers, clamping down on the end of the torc as I push with all my body weight. The torc finally begins to give. I can feel just the slightest movement in the metal and drive even harder into it. Xander grunts next to me, trying his best to hold the damn torc in place. If he doesn’t, I might kill Mana. But I swear it would be an accident. When I think it won’t budge anymore, it goes. It really goes, sending me across the room and into Tristan. Somehow, Mana’s head is still attached. In Xander’s hands is the damn torc, all mangled and scratched.

  “How’s it feel?” Tristan asks after he’s done laughing.

  The silver Fae sits up and rubs his red, surely to be bruised neck. He picks up the twisted gold from Xander. His face scrunches, making his scar wrinkle. “Freeing, but oddly colder.”

  I stare at the place I spent most of my waking hours in. Remembering my first day and learning from the grump who rescued me but wouldn’t speak. The first time I picked up my hammer. Not the two-pound hammer that I first used to strike hot metal, but the hammer I designed—with Brynjar’s help. Weighing four pounds, it feels like air in my hands, an extension of my hand. With a bullet-shaped peen, a large, flat face, and a foot-and-a-half-long handle made out of some wood Brynjar had imported. A durable, gray wood that absorbs some of the vibration when striking. It’s the first creation I took pride in and made for myself. Without further thought, I attach it to my belt.

  I could hit myself in the head. My ax. It’s still in the barn house. I had forgotten it when we left, after Megan was kidnapped. In hindsight, this is probably the stupidest thing I could have possibly done: Walked into the woods chock full of nunda while they are still hunting, without any weapon. It’s a good thing Brynjar was with us, since he’s friends with the damn beasts.

  “I need to grab something from the house,” I say as I hurry to the back door leading to the courtyard.

  “What do you need?” Mana asks, taking his eyes off the broken insignia.

  “Something I’ll need. My ax is in there and is a far better weapon than this puny hammer.” That’s a lie. The hammer on my belt is solid, but the handle is short and if I were to use it in a fight, I would have to get close to my enemy in order to land a blow. I’m not a skilled fighter. My fighting talents revolve around smashing and throwing heavy objects. Against a master swordfighter, I’d be a pincushion.

  “I’ll slice all of us there.”

  The silver Fae reaches out his hands to Xander, Tristan, and me. The cousins take either one while I grab Tristan’s. A second later, we are in the livi
ng room of the old barn house. Slicing might be the easiest form of travel. I wish everyone could do it, that the asshole didn’t have control over it.

  In the kitchen, leaning up against the chair I was sitting in when Dana and Ciara were packing the kitchen, is my old trusty ax. Well, it’s more of a maul than a simple ax, with its hammer-like butt. However, it has a sharp blade instead of a thick wedge. Just under three feet long, the head of it weighs less than five pounds and the handle adds another pound or so. It has a long reach, it’s pointy, and it packs a punch. While at the market, I’ll need to see about getting a sheath for it so I can strap it to my backpack. I’ll have Tristan help me rig it. If any one of us is an expert at sheaths and blades, it’s him.

  ***

  We’re in and out of the empty market without too much hassle since it’s late in the season, but because of that, we couldn’t get everything we needed. The market was empty of crowds, but that also meant that most of the vendors had moved on too. There were only a couple shops left open along the street. Ciara will be the most upset; some of the things she requested, we weren’t able to get. We have all the necessities but no extra salt or sugar. The group is going to have to get used to black coffee and tea. We have a little, but nowhere near enough the amount Ciara had wanted. At the same time, the less we carry, the faster we’ll travel. We’re trying to stay as lightweight as possible, only carrying what we absolutely need.

  When I think back to what I would have packed from Earth, knowing that I was coming here, I’d have brought two suitcases and a backpack jammed full of useful gadgets and tools. But here, there are not too many things to own. There are no electronics, music, books (there are books, but only a few people in Capo can read), only three to four sets of clothes, no pictures or photo albums or knickknacks. Everything is plain and simple. I don’t own anything that isn’t replaceable besides the property. The only thing I own that has any sentimental value is the hammer I made. The house itself will be hard to replace. Especially since it was beginning to feel like home. A real home. Somewhere I had wanted to be. For the first time in eight years, I felt like I had a home instead of dreaming of it.

  Standing here, across the street, staring at the property I have grown to love, makes everything feel ten times worse than it already is. Anxiety spreads through the room like a disease. Brynjar hasn’t returned. We had expected him to arrive before us since he had said he was only stopping at Miki’s. But he isn’t back yet.

  Tristan practices balancing a dagger by the tip of the blade and catching it by the hilt. Xander is pacing, while Mana stands with his back to the wall, watching all exits and entrances. I stare at my old home, wishing I was lying in bed, holding Dana.

  There’s a sudden movement in the second-story window above the kitchen. Someone tilts their head as they stare at me. A wicked smile crosses their lips. “Shit!”

  As I say the words, Mana has already raced across the room, grabbing both Xander and Tristan’s hands. Then the three of them are gone and I’m left alone. I glance back at the empty window, frantically trying to find the person who was just spying on us. There’s no way in hell I’m just going to stand here and wait for whoever that is to come here and attack me. I grab my ax and get ready to swing with it in my right hand and block with my hammer in the left.

  “Where is the Druid?” Mana pops out of thin air, making me swing my ax at him. He jumps backward, barely missing the blow. I didn’t mean to, but he scared the shit out of me, reappearing two feet in front of me.

  I lower my weapon. “Don’t know. He said he went to Miki’s but I’ve never been there. Don’t know where he lives.”

  He closes his eyes. All his facial muscles relax, his shoulders slack slightly, and his hands twitch just a little, only enough for me to notice. His silver eyes open. “He’s near, but on the other side of the building. I think he knows the house is being watched.”

  “How do you know that?”

  He glares at me, as if annoyed that I’m asking a silly question. “There’s three people within the vicinity besides us. Two with hostile thoughts, one that seems determined.”

  “How do you know he’s not one of the hostile ones?”

  He cocks his head to the side, looking at me like I’m a complete idiot. “I need to get to him. I’m taking you back to the cabin.”

  I step away from him. “No. I’m staying. Brynjar is like a father to me. I won’t leave him.”

  Mana squints his eyes at me. “I won’t be able to protect you both if it comes to that.”

  “Just worry about getting us both out of here,” I growl.

  He nods and grabs my hand. In an instant, we are outside and the wind nips at my neck. Then we are somewhere else, outside on a dead-end street that I’ve never seen before. Mana closes his eyes and then we travel to yet another spot. In as few as five seconds, we have been to four different locations. I have no clue where we are. We are down some alleyway, but I couldn’t begin to tell you which. Is that what it’s like for him? Traveling that fast to so many places in a blink is disorienting. My senses are all messed up. To say I’m dizzy is an understatement.

  “Where are—” is all I get out before we arrive at another location. It takes a second for me to regain my balance. But now I see Brynjar hunched down and somehow we are behind him.

  Mana still has his hand clamped down on mine as he drags—and I mean drags—me across the street in what feels like one step. After that step, I catch Brynjar moving equally fast, turning around. I think he had expected an attack because one moment he’s normal sized, the next he grows another foot taller and wider. His arms are bulging, three times bigger, and in his hands, he’s holding a ball of purple lightning. He literally just Hulked out in front of my eyes and created a glowing electrified bomb.

  Mana doesn’t say a word to him. His hand still firmly clenches mine as Brynjar grabs his free hand. An instant later, we are outside his cabin.

  Chapter Thirty-Two - Megan

  I feel saturated. Like a sponge that absorbed all that it can take. I sucked up every grimy bit and tried to contain it inside for as long as I could. But last night, the emotions poured out of me, like a sponge being wrung out, dripping fast and with fury. But now, hours later, somehow, some way, there is still a trickle of emotions seeping out. Just like the last drops of liquid hidden in a sponge, harboring any signs of water, until it has completely evaporated.

  I wait to dry out.

  Today will be our last day on the outskirts of Capo. Tomorrow, we head out at first light. We need to get a head start in front of winter. Brynjar says that it will start to snow any day, which will make our trek even more treacherous and stressful. But he said that he would take care of our sleeping arrangements and that we wouldn’t need to rent any rooms until we reached Delmont. That will save us a ton of money. When we get to the coast, we can rent a couple of nice rooms and live in luxury for a week or two until we can find passage to the Ka’Pamau islands. The cost for passage will be high, but with all the jewelry that Kilyn packed, it will be easily paid for. What will be even pricier is finding a home on the islands that can house all ten of us—that’s if Brynjar follows our group the whole way. He hasn’t said if he will or not, and I have a feeling it’s better to not ask the grouch.

  I was right. He was hiding something, being a Druid. It has to be the only thing that makes sense amongst all this chaos. The overflowing gardens that neither he nor Kevin tended—as far as I could tell—the crazy cabin that looks like a jade tree, his appearance and aloof nature. The cabin alone has many hints and clues, with all the herbs hanging from the rafters. I only wish I had known earlier. Hell, Mana figured it out the first time he meet Brynjar, but he has met other Druids.

  All the men have gone to Capo for the last-minute supplies that we’ll need to begin our journey. It’s mostly provisions and some warmer winter clothing that the men are getting. The girls, for the most part, are busy organizing and prepping everything and anything they can for when
we leave. Kilyn has spent her morning sitting next to me or hovering behind Ciara. She still won’t talk too much, but at least she isn’t clinging to me. It’s a single relief out of all the hardship, but it helps tremendously.

  Every time I get up to help them with something, they tell me to relax and shut my eyes. They don’t understand that it’s pointless. That I will never sleep again. That the word relax no longer registers as a word I know. It’s alien—just like this fucking planet that we are trapped on. They don’t realize the thing I need the most is a distraction. I would welcome any kind of mundane task to help numb my mind.

  “Megan, you should rest. Tomorrow is going to be a long, hard day,” Dana says, taking a seat next to me, a cup of coffee in her hands.

  “You honestly think I can?”

  She replies with a sigh but doesn’t push the subject. “The guys should be back soon. Then we’ll eat a huge bon voyage meal and go to bed.”

  “Do you know what Ciara is cooking?” Even though I’m half crazed, I still have an appetite.

  “Some type of meat stew with potatoes. It’s harder for her to cook with Brynjar’s limited kitchen,” she says in between sips.

  “It will only get harder as we travel.” I let out a long, heavy sigh. “Everything will.”

  She puts down her cup and grabs my hand, giving it a squeeze, but she says nothing. She’s not one to lie or butter someone up—she knows how bad things are about to get. That hiking up and down mountain ranges in the beginning of winter is going to wear down our novice group. The blisters, possible frostbite, hunger, thirst, being uncomfortable, and lack of privacy will push us all beyond our breaking points.

  Outside the cabin, there’s a crash. All five of our heads swivel in unison.

  “Kilyn, go to the closet, now,” Ciara whispers in a hushed but serious tone.