by Sadie Moss
We sneak up around the side of the town’s council house, a long, rectangular cabin that sits perpendicular to the road. All three men crowd ahead of me to look out under the cover of the building, but I’m small enough to duck down and peek through Callum’s arms.
Half a dozen men on horses are parading around the main road that cuts through the town, clearly intimidating the group of villagers sitting in the dirt. I watch as a lanky man with a sneering grin points his wickedly sharp sword at one of the Mason women, and she cringes away, tears spilling over her pale cheeks. The group is small, only a dozen women and children and a handful of older men who look like they were beaten into submission. But this isn’t everybody in the village—my mother isn’t here, nor are Jacob or the Tulle sisters.
Another half dozen raiders are moving in and out of the cabins closest to the subdued prisoners, tossing dried goods and supplies on the street.
“They’re taking everything the villagers have.” Anger makes my voice shake. “Weapons, food, household goods, clothing—everything. They would leave my people to die in the cold of winter.”
Paris clasps my shoulder, and when I meet his gaze, his expression is no longer languid and sensual. I glimpsed this side of him in the afterworld forest when the three of them took on the beast—this is the warrior Paris, with his handsome jaw clenched and a hard glint in his sapphire eyes.
“Only use the weave if you have to.” Callum murmurs his instructions as his gaze continues to scan the street. “It will be better if they don’t know what we are.”
I almost laugh at that. Power emanates from all three of my companions, and perhaps from me a little too. There’s no way they’ll be mistaken as human for long.
But then again, hopefully we won’t need long.
Before I can say any of that to him, my attention is pulled back to the street as two horsemen pass just beyond the council house. This close, I can tell they’re in better shape than the men of my village, but they’re still struggling from the lack of resources in Zelus’s kingdom. Their faces are gaunt and their clothes tattered. They draw up beside one another, their conversation carrying to us on the cold breeze.
“I think we’ll take the women too. What do you say?”
The second rider laughs. “Aye. But only the young ones.”
I don’t even realize I’m growling under my breath until Echo looks over his shoulder at me.
“Over my dead body,” I seethe.
Paris squeezes my shoulder. “I hate to remind you, little soul, but the human body you once had is already dead.”
And then we’re running.
Callum lets out a fearsome roar, leading the charge. I think we must look like mad people, the four of us rushing a dozen armed horsemen, but as our groups clash, it becomes abundantly clear that the four of us are deadly.
Callum knocks the first man off his horse with a well-placed blow from the broad side of his sword. The man tumbles into the dirt with a surprised shriek, but he’s too cowardly to fight back. He curls into a ball, mewling like a kitten as Callum looms over him. Instead of skewering him, Callum kicks his weapon toward one of the elderly male villagers, who snatches it up and stands to protect the women and children.
I come up against the horseman behind Callum, jamming my dagger into his thigh, which is the closest part of his body to me on the ground. The raider whips around, and his old sword makes a ringing sound as it sails through the air. I duck the blow and rip my dagger out of his flesh, then dart around the horse’s back end to stab his other leg.
As I expected, the man can’t steer his horse with injured legs while also trying to use a sword. He makes a sound of disgust, then sheathes his weapon and urges his horse to run away from the camp.
These men chose my village because they expected it to be the path of least resistance. And it was when they arrived. Nobody was strong enough to fight men with swords on horseback. Jacob and the Tulle sisters’ absences tells me some of our strongest fighters have probably already been subdued, which left everybody else in grave danger.
I turn around to find a man on horseback bearing down on me, holding his battered sword high. I nearly trip over a strand of the weave, but catch myself just in time as I tune back into the hum of its magical presence. Instead of falling, I lunge sideways and duck into a roll, springing to my feet as the horse and rider pass by.
It’s tempting to try to use magic to help, but I remember Callum’s warning and resist the urge. Instead, I raise my dagger high and hurl it toward the man as he yanks on his mount’s reins. The blade hits him in the chest and he topples from his horse as the creature whinnies and bucks in fear.
Poor beast. It’s not a warhorse. It’s probably been dragging a plow its whole life, and it’s clearly unused to commotion like this.
Riderless, it gallops past me and disappears down the dusty street, heading for the forest. Movement draws my attention on the left, and I turn in time to see another mounted rider charging toward me. In my periphery, I can see Callum, Echo, and Paris fighting against the other raiders—there are more than a dozen men, I realize. Some were inside huts, hidden from view when we arrived.
But I don’t have time to worry about that as the man on horseback nears me. This time I’m ready, and I duck, evading the arcing slash of his sword and grabbing for the horse’s reins.
The sharp tug on the reins startles the beast, turning its head, and the horse falls with a resounding thud on the dirt ground, his rider half-buried beneath his bulk. He’ll be fine—the horse, that is—though the rider doesn’t look to have fared so well. He’s groaning in agony as the horse heaves himself to his feet.
The creature canters away, and I move quickly, snatching up the man’s short sword as a third raider approaches. This man has no horse, but he’s bigger and bulkier than the other two. Famine doesn’t seem to have affected him as badly as most of the invaders ransacking my village, and he appears strong and fit. His sword is also bigger than my stolen one, but it’s not as if I can do anything about the size of my weapon now.
He slices at me, and I parry his blow on the downside, our blades dancing sharply together. My sword may be smaller, but I have better control over it, and despite his bulk, I’m able to toss his blow aside. I dart toward him while the sword is otherwise displaced and jam an elbow into his throat, hitting him with everything I have.
He gags, dropping his blade to clutch at his injured trachea, and I pick up his sword, holding it in my non-dominant hand as I take a step backward. It’s so heavy it’s a struggle to hold aloft, but I’ll be farsed if I let him know that. Fury pumps through my veins like adrenaline, and I can feel it lending me strength.
“This is mine now,” I tell him, shoving the tip of the blade into his belly. “Leave.”
Anger darkens his eyes, but then his gaze flicks behind me, and the fight seems to drain out of him. With a snarl, he backs away from me, turning to disappear down the street in a stumbling run.
When I whip around to locate my next victim, brandishing my two pilfered swords, I realize there is no next victim. The raiders have all fled or fallen, though I only see four remaining who appear to be dead. I imagine they fought the hardest and most violently without giving up, and they paid for that hubris.
Callum, Echo, and Paris are all standing in various places on the road watching me. They all look a little shocked, and I wonder how much of my fight with the man they witnessed. Aside from the day of our first meeting, they’ve never really seen me fight before.
Paris arches a brow as he strides toward me. “Well done, little soul. I’m impressed.”
I can’t help the grin that stretches my lips as I retrieve the dagger I threw at the man on horseback, wiping it clean before slipping it back into its sheath. I feel more alive right now than I have since I died, and all because I was able to fight, to use muscles I hadn’t thought of in ages. And after being rescued from a massive supernatural beast by these three men, it feels good to show them that
I truly can fight. To prove my competence.
None of them see me as helpless, I know that. But the respect that gleams in their eyes as they watch me now makes my chest puff up a little with pride. Even Callum’s glittering green eyes hold grudging admiration.
As the last of the raiders’ hoofbeats fade into the distance, I glance around the street again. The villagers who were forced out of their homes by the intruders scattered as we fought, ducking behind buildings to avoid slashing blades and the sharp hooves of terrified horses.
Olive Whitmore, an older woman whose paper-thin skin is crisscrossed with wrinkles, emerges from the side of the council house where my messengers and I gathered before. Her eyes widen at the sight of me, and she places her first two fingers to her right eyebrow and makes the sign of Zelus, muttering something under her breath.
I can see the shock in her face, and I can tell she doesn’t know what to make of the sight of me. But explanations can come later. Right now, I need to know where the other villagers are.
“Olive, what happened?” I stride toward her, and the three men fall into step beside me, flanking me like an honor guard. “Where is everyone else?”
“They set upon the hunting party as they were heading into the woods,” she tells me, her voice creaky. “Bound them by the village entrance. They killed Marin to make an example for the rest of us. The rest of us hid in our houses until those men began to drag us out.”
Anger darkens her tone, and I clench my jaw. I know it could’ve been so much worse. My entire village could be burned to the ground, all the occupants dead. But still, my heart breaks for the old man. He was a good hunter and a good person, and he didn’t deserve to meet his end at the hand of marauding thieves.
I hand her a sword, the smaller one that I stole from the second mounted man. “Go free the hunters. Take a few other people with you to help. Tell them to check the village and keep an eye on the roads to make sure none of the raiders are still hiding here and that none come back.”
Olive grips the sword’s hilt with both hands. She’s a frail woman, but all of the people in my village are strong of spirit, if no longer in body. I know she’ll carry out this task.
As she and two others head north toward where the hunters were bound, I look back at Callum, Echo, and Paris. A feeling of urgency has been growing in me since the fight ended, and now a single word drums like a heartbeat inside my mind.
Nolan. Nolan. Nolan.
“Come on.”
I grip my stolen sword tightly, and the men keep their blades out as they follow me, allowing me to lead them through my village. It’s the first time I’ve gone anywhere with them where I wasn’t the one following them, but it feels strangely natural to walk ahead as the three messengers guard my back.
As we pass through the small town, more faces emerge from the farthest huts, where the attackers hadn’t yet reached in their pillaging. If the men of the village were in better shape, and if our hunters hadn’t been gone—they could have taken on the attackers and stood a chance. But because they weren’t, they hid.
When we near my mother’s hut, my footsteps slow. Olive said that old Marin died, but she didn’t mention any other names. Still, worry eats a hole in my heart as I imagine what I may find inside this dwelling.
Before I can step toward the door, though, it opens. The haunted face that peers out belongs to my mother. She doesn’t see me at first as she leaves the hut, a small dagger held in one hand. She looks down the street hesitantly, like she’s not completely certain it’s safe.
I step away from the messengers, my heavy sword clattering to the ground.
I never thought I would see her again.
After an interminable moment, my mother glances down the road in our direction. Her face turns pale as she blinks. Once. Twice.
Then she cries out, a sharp, piercing sound, and covers her mouth.
25
I remain firmly rooted to the ground, frozen by the sight of her.
I never thought I would see my mother again anywhere but in my dreams, but there’s barely any distance between us at all now.
And then, suddenly, she drops her dagger and races toward me.
Her frail body slams into mine with such force I stagger backward a step. I wrap my arms around her as she’s wracked with sobs. She grips my hair, clutches the back of my dress, and peppers my cheeks in wet kisses.
I’m too shocked to cry with her at first, but as it slowly sinks in that I’m truly seeing her, I finally give in to my emotions.
After several long minutes, my mother steps away, cupping my face between her shaking hands. “Sage, my love, I don’t understand. We found your body on the altar. We buried you. We’ve mourned your death. I don’t…” She trails off, clearly at a loss for words.
I glance at my messengers, who are gathered together watching the spectacle of our reunion with unreadable expressions. I don’t know how much I’m allowed to tell my mother, but I have to tell her something. Daughters don’t typically rise from the dead.
“You were cold,” she murmurs, stroking my hair again. “Sage, you were dead. How is this possible?”
“I was dead,” I hedge, my mind racing over possible explanations. I glance again at Callum, and he gives me a small nod, so I continue. Swallowing hard, I take my mother’s hands and say, “I did die. And I am still, in fact, dead. I’m no longer of this world.”
“What on earth do you mean?” My mother squeezes my hands. “Sweet Sage, I can feel you. You’re as alive and solid as I am. You’re certainly no ghost.”
I sense more than see the three men come up behind me. Now that the tearful reunion between me and my mother is over, they fan out around me, perhaps trying to offer their silent support as my heart cracks in my chest. My mother is looking at me with such certainty, such hope, that it makes me sick to think of taking it away from her.
But the men’s presence wraps around me like a warm blanket and I find myself unconsciously leaning closer to them, still clasping my mother’s hands. Even as I feel drawn to the three men, she seems repelled. She leans away, her wide-eyed gaze drifting over my shoulder as if a bear has stood on its hind legs and roared out its fury at her. Her hands grip mine tighter, and through that connection, I can feel the shudder of fear that passes through her. She stares at the men, her eyes so big I can see white all the way around.
Is she… frightened? Of my messengers?
“Mother, these are my friends,” I tell her, keeping my tone as light as I can to ease her worries. Friends seems like the wrong word for what these men are to me, and I to them. But it’s the only word that will make any sense to her right now. “Callum, Echo, and Paris. They’ve been caring for me since… well, since I died.”
Mother swallows and tugs on my hand as if trying to put some more space between me and the men.
As she does, I remember the day I saw the messengers for the first time. They’d seemed so powerful, so otherworldly, and even I feared them on first sight, hiding in the bushes like a frightened rabbit. I imagine that same feeling now courses through my mother’s veins, making her fearful of the messengers, though she doesn’t really understand why.
I’m sure the fact that all three men are larger than most of the men in this village plays a part as well. Even without using their magic, they’re powerful, intimidating figures.
“They chased away the raiders,” I add, trying to find a common ground, something that can prove to my mother that my companions aren’t the enemy.
“Mrs. Thorne,” Callum says gruffly, tearing right through my attempt at soothing nerves. “Where is your son?”
Mother pulls her hand from mine, her body jerking and cringes away from Callum as if he’s yelled at her, though the pitch of his voice has hardly changed. Her nostrils flare, and she looks close to panic. “What need have you of my boy?”
“Mother, we’re here to help Nolan,” I soothe. “They can help him. They can do things beyond what you or even I could do.”
I haven’t been paying much attention to our surroundings, so caught up in trying to soothe my mother as if I’m calming a frightened horse. So when Jacob strides up behind her, his gaze latched on to me, I nearly jump in surprise. Olive and the others must’ve freed the hunting party already.
“What’s going on?” he asks loudly, his hand on his sword as he sweeps a gaze over my messengers. “Mrs. Thorne? Who are these men?”
My mother doesn’t remove her terrified stare from Callum. “Sage has returned. With… friends.”
Jacob’s body jerks visibly with surprise, and his gaze finally alights on my face, recognition and shock contorting his features.
“Sage?” He steps past my stunned mother and touches my face. “Is it really you?”
A rumble from behind me is all the warning that comes before a thick, muscular arm whips past me. Callum grabs Jacob’s wrist and shoves his hand away from my face, and my heart seizes in my chest.
“Callum!” I hiss over my shoulder. “No!”
“What—” Jacob stumbles back a step, but recovers quickly.
I can see the anger and fear on his face as he raises his sword. After being attacked and bound by raiders, nearly forced to watch them ransack his village, he’s probably on edge with pent-up aggression.
But I can’t let him fight these men. He won’t win, and if they kill Jacob, we’ll all lose. I came here to help my village, not to bring chaos and death.
“Don’t touch me,” Jacob snaps, stepping toward Callum.
“Don’t touch Sage as if she’s yours to take,” the big warrior replies smoothly, placing his bulk between me and my old friend. His own palm rests on the hilt of his sword, but he leaves it firmly sheathed, giving a clear message to us all—he does not see Jacob as a threat worthy of drawing his weapon.
“And what business have you to say who has a claim to Sage?” Jacob demands.
“None!” I shove at Callum, trying to force him out of my way. “I am no one’s to lay claim to.”
Callum stiffens slightly. It’s such a small shift in him that I don’t see it, but I feel it because my hands are on his back. Turning away from the human before him, he glances down at me, an expression I can’t read coloring his features.