The cloying, woody smell of burnt wood and ash choked Rowena as she stumbled through the wreckage. She stumbled, hands clenched around her throat, gasping in a deep breath.
As cool, yet dust-filled air flooded into her mouth, she coughed, spitting out black. Sylva wasn’t choking her. It was just the air, so filled with soot she could barely see anything in front of the haze.
All she could make out was an arch of flames that spanned a wide river. No, not an arch of flames, it was a burning bridge. There had been shops and houses on that bridge that were almost shrouded in a flickering curtain of fire. Rowena was standing at the gatehouse to the former bridge, whose stones popped and cracked as the heat ate and clawed at them.
She turned around, the town the bridge was in front of was collapsing. Buildings and blackened plaster crumbling before the inferno. The wind howled, blowing across the town and the bridge, and carrying glowing embers into the houses on the other side. Even from this distance, Rowena could see the glow across the river.
Rowena took a stumbling step forward when her foot brushed past something. Her eye found it and she shrieked, falling onto the hot cobbles.
The broken bodies of two women lay on the ground, hands clasped, still eyes open in death, one human, one Alavari.
Rowena blinked. No, the human woman was at least part Alavari Aside from her pointed ears and pupil-less dark blue eyes, she could have easily blended into the crowd, if not for a pink burn scar that covered the top-right of her face. With one hand, she held a staff bound with thick silver bands.
Her other hand held an Alavari woman with crimson hair. Rowena wasn’t sure of her exact species. She had harpy wings with plumage the colors of the autumn leaves, along with her species clawed feet and hawk-shaped eyes. Yet, she also had a troll’s pointed ears, and arms, which harpies didn’t have. If she was a harpy, she wouldn’t be able to hold the ivory-white wand or that of her companion.
Rowena stared at the pair, trying to focus on their still tightly clasped hands, and yet, her gaze found itself drifting. The pair weren’t burned to death, dried blood welled from wounds that punched through their clothing.
Rowena blinked, her ears were ringing from the roaring flames and the howling wind. Yet she could hear two voices coming from—the wand and the staff in the pair’s hands.
“Master! Master Hattie! You promised to live long! You promised!” the staff sobbed, a keening cry drowned out by the throes of destruction.
The wand’s gruff voice was balanced on the edge of fury and grief. “Morgan get up you impudent brat! Get up! What will I tell your mother? MORGAN!”
Rowena’s eyes flew open as she bolted straight up in her bedroll. Her arms pressed to her slides, fists filled with her worn blanket.
The early morning breeze filled her nose. The campground was waking up. The roar of the flames and wind was gone, replaced by the chatter of people’s morning greetings. The only flames she could see were morning campfires.
“A vision. What—” Rowena wiped her yes and grabbing the flask of water by her bedroll, stuffed as much water down her throat. The phantom ashen taste of soot still covered her tongue, though it’d never been there.
She’d seen strange events before, but nothing so up close or vivid. Something like this… Rowena closed and opened her eyes, repeating the motion.
“It’s just a possibility,” she whispered to herself. After all, her visions were never guaranteed to occur. Frankly, she didn’t even know when that future might happen. The town had looked like it was in her era, but it could be anywhere. There was nothing she could do about this possibility.
Even so, remembering the flames and the heat made a cold feeling crawl up the back of her hand.
***
It was afternoon when Rowena trotted Larch over the final rise of Westfall pass and down towards the Twin-towns of Kwent. At the border between the Kingdom of Erisdale and the Kingdom of Alavaria, Kwent was her last stop before she crossed the border into the Kingdom of Alavaria and towards Athelda-Aoun.
Athelda-Aoun, Rowena couldn’t remember when she’d heard about that city. She had always known, though, that if she ever escaped from Sylva, that was where she needed to go.
The city had a near-mythical reputation as being abandoned by the ancient Goblin Empire, before being resettled by refugees and orphans during the Fourth Great Hero War. Tales of the equality and happiness of its residence, and the many lost souls that had found belonging and joy, were oft-repeated everywhere that Sylva had taken Rowena.
That and the disdain Sylva had shown every time the city had been mentioned was an excellent indicator the story was likely true.
Yet, as Rowena rode toward the gates of Kwent, the chill on the back of her hands, which she’d managed to ignore, started to crawl up her arms.
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She’d ridden underneath Kwent’s gatehouse. Larch’s hooves were now thudding down the main street of the town. It was a street that she’d seen before, along with the gatehouse that rose in the distance.
Rowena could smell smoke. The memory of the flames danced at the edges of her vision. Dismounting from her horse, she walked down the street packed with travellers, shopkeepers and people going about their day to day business.
This was the gatehouse of her vision. This was the bridge over the river. Somehow, sometime in the future, this would all burn down.
It was only because she’d had to remain inconspicuous for all her life that stopped her from just standing still and shivering. Even so, Rowena couldn’t help but glance frantically around her. Did they see her? Could they tell she was acting strange? No, she couldn’t think that, she had to find…find an inn, something, across the river.
“State your business and name, please.”
Rowena looked up at the guard and swallowed. She’d arrived at the bridge gatehouse and a hulking female ogre was extending one of her six-fingered hands. Her uniform was Alavari purple, and beside her was a guard in Erisdalian red.
“Rowena. I’m travelling.”
“Last name and to where?” asked the ogre.
Rowena swallowed. “I don’t know. Never knew my parents. I’m going to Athelda-Aoun.”
The guards exchanged a glance before the human guard spoke up. “If you’re an orphan wanting to go to the School of Magic and Mundane, there’s a White Order guest house here. You can stay there until a mage gets there.” The man smiled warmly. “There’s a warm bed and food too.”
Rowena smiled right back. Warm bed and food sounded nice, but also wholly unnecessary and risky. People meant attention, and without a crows to blend in with, there might be more questions, some she couldn’t answer.
Besides, if there was going to be a fire, she had to leave, now.
“Thank you, but I’ll be fine. I have my pony. I have food. I’ll get there.”
The ogre guard frowned. She opened her mouth before closing it and shaking her head. “Alright then. If you need anything, there are waystations you can stop by.”
The human guard blinked. “Thala? Shouldn’t we make her—”
“Everybody has their own story, Leo. Not everybody trusts in the same way and the road is quite safe,” said Thala. The ogre smiled at Rowena. “There are multiple waystations on the road to the city. If you need anything, talk go one of the guards.”
Rowena nodded. “I understand, thank you.” It wasn’t technically a lie. She just wouldn’t talking to anybody, unless she absolutely had to.
Stepping past the guard, Rowena walked down the bridge, Larch’s reins in hand. With every step, she had to blink, trying to force out the images that flashed into her mind.
That inn perched on the side of the bridge had collapsed into the river. The lower beams eaten out by the fire had sent that building tumbling like a comet. The gatehouse ahead of her had howled as the wind was rammed through the gate arches.
Her chest feeling like it would explode, Rowena tried to put her head down and walk on. The vision she had may not happen. There was no guarantee that there will be a fire. She’d been disappointed by her visions before. On occasion, they were so nonsensical that they’d appeared more fanciful than real. Still the dread that gritted her teeth continued to creep up her spine.
What if there was a fire? What if people died?
Rowena forced herself to look ahead, to the gatehouse that loomed closer and closer. There was no surety that there would be a fire, and besides, if there was one, what could a ten-year-old nobody do?
She bumped into something soft on her left side. Almost tripping, Rowena managed to hold onto Larch’s reins and keep herself on her feet. Blinking rapidly, she tried to fix on what had run into her blind spot.
“Oh, I’m sorry! Are you alright?”
“I’m alright—” Rowena’s eyes widened and the grip she had the leather cords turned numb and clammy.
The reason why the impact had been soft was because she’d run into a wing. It had unmistakeable plumage colored like autumn leaves and speckled with golden flecks. The woman whose wing it belonged to had crimson hair and golden hawk-shaped eyes. She wore a nicely-fitted corset to support her bosom, along with a loose dress that stopped right before her harpy feet. From a well-crafted black belt, an ivory wand hung from a finely-crafted leather holster.
Beside the part-harpy Alavari, was another woman with dark blue hair, and pointed troll’s ears. Despite the burn scar that covered the top-right part of her face, she smiled warmly at Morgan. Now that it wasn’t lit by flames, stained with blood and partly blackened by soot, Rowena could see she wore white robes that denoted her as a mage of the White Order.
“What’s your name, young one? I’m Hattie,” said the half-troll. Her dark blue eyes flickered and Rowena instantly knew she was being examined. It wasn’t a magical examination, or else the silver-bound staff that the woman carried would glow. Yet, Rowena knew that she’d drawn Hattie’s attention and if she didn’t answer, she’d be under suspicion.
“Rowena.” She clamped her hand over her mouth, before immediately pinning it to her side. “I’m so sorry for bumping into you. I can’t see out of my left eye.”
Morgan was still smiling, but unlike Hattie, Rowena could see a slight narrowing of her eyes. “You’re very young to be travelling by yourself. Where are you headed?”
“Athelda-Aoun. I just want to get to Respite and um, the School.”
Morgan blinked. “Wait, we—sorry, the White Order has a house here with lodging. You don’t have to pay, they offer it to anybody. Didn’t the guards offer it to you?”
“Oh, they did, I—but I can make it there on my own.”
Morgan and Hattie exchanged a glance at one another. In what seemed like mere moments and through only facial ticks and slight touches, an entire conversation only privy to them passed between the pair. It ended when Hattie brushed her hand against Morgan’s cheek, and the harpy-troll flashing her companion a wry grin. Then, Morgan’s hawk-eyes were fixed on Rowena again.
“You don’t need to put on a brave face, kid. I can see you’re nervous and I would be remiss to allow a child to take such a long journey by herself.”
“There really is no need, Miss Morgan.” Rowena blinked and her breath hitched in her throat as she realised a split second too late. Morgan was continuing to smile. Hattie’s eyes however had narrowed ever so slightly. “I really do have to be going, thank you for your kindness.”
Yanking Larch’s reins, Rowena pulled her pony forward towards the gate. She kept her attention forward, hoping beyond hope that she hadn’t just blown it.
She walked for several agonizing minutes, passing by travellers and passer bys, waiting for someone to grab her shoulder, but noone ever did.
It was only just after she’d cleared the gatehouse that Rowena chanced a glance over her shoulder.
Morgan and Hattie were following her from a distance. Their eyes met.
Rowena grabbed her pack, let go of Larch’s reins and bolted.
Author's Note: So yeah, Rowena has visions and she's met Morgan and Hattie :D What do you all think is going to happen next?