The rain was warm.
The air swirled around Teldris, cold on her face and across her collar where she had ripped the laces of her gambeson open. She thought she had seen Alenna, but her eyes had been closed. She couldn’t remember ever shutting them. She squeezed them further to hold onto the images that drifted just beyond her consciousness.
Distant nights gathered in a great room with large looming figures around a crackling hearth. She recalled her father, a lute balanced on his knees, fingers dancing across the strings.
Something tugged at the waning strength in her chest. Something steady and quick.
She could hear the ballad of Sir Navin of the Ash. The soft susurrations of Alenna’s voice, low and deep, in a lullaby. Alenna leaned in close to Berand, their silhouettes stark against orange flame.
Her heart labored until it beat in time with that distant rhythm: steady and quick. Every other beat, a warm pulse through her body. Her fingers tingled. She flexed them, fingertips brushing over the individual grains of sands beneath them, gritty and wet against her palm.
“You’re okay,” Alenna soothed.
Teldris opened her eyes to the rain that pelted her face. She was sitting cheek to cheek with the Matron. Alenna’s hair, now dark and damp, curled over her appled cheeks. Teldris could see the creases etched in the corner of her eyes. Eyes that were warm and honeyed, bright as if they were lit from the hearth in Teldris’ memory.
Alenna was a small woman, but beneath her leather vestments, she was solid muscle. A sturdy anchor in a turbulent sea. “You’re okay,” Alenna murmured again. A rough hand rubbed up and down Teldris’ back and brushed along her braid. Teldris bent away, retching as she purged her body of a slurry of mucous and blood.
She closed her eyes and took deep breaths of the damp and musty air, collecting herself. Pressing a hand to her sternum, she expected to feel pain, but felt only firm unmarred skin. Her hand lifted away to find not blood but a film of fine golden dust glittering up at her.
Teldris turned back to Alenna. The Matron, her gaze unfocused as she stared at something behind Teldris, clutched her own chest.
“Are you all right, Matron?” Teldris asked. Her voice came out scratchy and dry. She wiped the rainwater from her face as Alenna snapped to attention and nodded silently. Teldris took the Matron in her arms, hugging her close. She whispered a grateful thank you as she looked up at the sky.
The whorling clouds above pressed in close, squeezing the air against the earth. The storm seemed determined to rend the sky apart. Lightning snaked across the horizon, lending a haunting glimmer to a dark tide. The black water crashed against Penth’s coastal huts as if to swallow them whole while their residents scampered across twisting rope bridges to seek their homes.
On the shore, the pavilions had been torn down. Berand’s voice echoed distantly as he barked orders, broad back to Teldris and Alenna, cape soaked, drab, and grey. Beside him, her sisters huddled miserably—but dry—beneath a shimmering dome where water would hit an invisible ceiling above them and sluice off to the sides.
Hania seemed intent on the two swords that Teldris and Matthias had forgotten in the arena. She clutched them tightly to her chest, half of the blades buried in the wet sand. She fingered the single jewel in the pommel of Teldris’ sword, oblivious to the havoc of the world around her.
Anariel stood beneath the very edge of their father’s shield. She had been watching Teldris and Alenna intently and when Teldris’ eyes met hers, her shoulders slackened in relief. Anariel moved to leave the safety of the shield but a sharp word from Berand had the girl shrinking back. Her hands twisted at Hania’s fallen cowl.
“Where’s Matthias,” Teldris croaked. The world spun around Teldris as she swiveled her head slowly. Over where Matthias had been kneeling was a deep patch of red, so much that even in the heavy rain the blood remained, faint trails of it running over the sand. Her heart sank into her stomach.
“Matt is all right,” Alenna said again with a heavy pat on Teldris’ back. “He’s helping others. He’ll join with us on the way home. Can you stand?”
Teldris nodded though she wasn’t quite sure. She still felt pain but as soon as she felt it while moving her arms, it just as easily faded as if washed away by the rain. There was a weariness left within them and Teldris found that she hadn’t the strength to lift herself.
Strong arms hooked beneath her shoulders and hauled her upward. Teldris scrambled to find purchase with her feet, slipping and kicking up clumps of sand. She looked up into the eyes of her father, shadowed and dark beneath his scrunched brow.
Berand’s hair was damp, curling over deep wrinkles in his forehead that she had never seen before. Droplets of water clung to his groomed beard. His lips made a grim line, a fixture Teldris thought permanent since she approached sixteen summers.
“Are you well?” he rumbled. It wasn’t dissimilar to the thunder. Once Teldris found her footing, she nodded and he carefully released her. Berand helped Alenna to her feet. They exchanged low whispers with one another, which Teldris assumed was Berand fussing over the Matron.
Teldris took quick stock of herself, though she already knew what to expect. The wound in her chest had healed over completely. The only evidence of her having suffered a blow was the gold powder that stained her clothes and an aching throb that echoed through her body. Phantom pains, the Matron called it, for her body had returned to its pristine state, skin flawless beneath her torn armor.
The world was awash with grey and nowhere in the scattering crowd could she find Matthias’ gold hair or the bright red of her two sisters. Teldris didn’t know what to do with herself. She inched closer to her father and the Matron.
Alenna seemed weary. Her usual spirit had deflated and her clothes clung to her frame like fur on a wet dog.
“Where—” Teldris started, wanting to ask where the girls were, but her father and Alenna were too focused on each other for her to be heard. Teldris stood restlessly as she waited, eyes searching the people that scattered the beach.
“Just wait,” Berand hissed. “Stay where you are, blasted woman. Where’s that damn boy?”
“I’m fine, Bear,” Alenna said, waving him away. “I can stand on my own.”
Berand continued to hover over the woman as he let out a sharp whistle. Lancer Yael, who had been wrangling the canvas remains of a pavilion, dropped what he was holding to the dismay of his comrades. As he came running, a large gust sent the tarp unraveling to barrel into the remaining lancers.
“Get a cart,” Berand said, just loud enough for Yael to come to an abrupt halt and alter his course.
Alenna attempted to rise but her legs trembled like that of a newborn calf. Her knees hit the sand.
Teldris knelt at her side. “Let me help you, Matron,” she said, imploring with her eyes. Alenna took several deep breaths and stared at the waves as if she could make them rise higher and swallow up her two aggressors. She clasped Teldris’ outstretched arm and begrudgingly pulled herself up with Teldris’ aid.
Teldris spoke again. “Where are the—”
“You’re not putting me in a damn cart like I’m a bushel of apples,” Alenna growled, turning to Berand. Teldris backed away.
“You can barely stand, Len,” he said gruffly.
The smaller woman made fists at her sides though she swayed back and forth on her rooted feet, heels making deep impressions in the sand. The rain fell heavier on them, leaving pockmarks along the beach, brief little craters before being swept away by the tide.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
The three of them were miserably drenched. Berand sighed and with a quick grip of his fist, the air moved around them, upward with both a crunching and suckling sound. The air shimmered pearlescent above him, expanding out to offer cover to both Teldris and Alenna.
“Is now really the time to be so stubborn—” her father said.
“Ezza,” came a cry that echoed from the docks. Teldris turned to find Lancer Yael leading an ornery-looking camel. The camel was hitched to a small cart holding Anariel and Hania who leaned over the sides, hands dangling as the rain beat on them. They looked on anxiously while Matthias walked, sullen and ashamed, alongside the cart.
“Emme,” Teldris murmured. She couldn’t hide the smile that crept onto her face as she strode over to the cart. The two girls hopped out to run toward her. They clung to her legs and waist, squeezing tightly.
It occurred to Teldris then that her sisters of twelve and eight summers might have witnessed what could have been her untimely end—if it weren’t for Alenna and Malhayar’s blessing.
She pulled on Anariel’s chin, palms cupping her sister’s face. Beneath the brush of bangs, Anariel’s eyes were wide and green, eyebrows peaked in confusion. Was it so easy to turn a shoulder to death, she wondered as she searched Anariel’s gaze for some sort of pain. Anariel only blinked slowly at her.
Teldris did the same with Hania who chose to go cross-eyed and make weird faces at her. Laughter bubbled from Teldris as she dropped Hania quicker than a hot stone.
She snuck a glance at Matthias who definitely wouldn’t be walking without Alenna’s help. He looked over at her. The mistake of meeting Matthias’ gaze meant it was an invitation for him to fall in line beside her. Or was it that she had looked away as quickly as she could that gave him the courage? Like how avoiding a dog would only attract its attention.
Berand and Alenna spoke heatedly as they returned.
“—you’ll only get so far before you tire and I’ll carry you to that temple if I have to. Or have you coddled in my shield.”
“Enough!” Alenna spat. She gathered the robes that clung to her legs and heaved herself into the cart.
Their procession down the beach toward home was grim and silent.
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The temple of Malhayar was a modest building built on a peninsula south of Penth. It was a single story of simple lines and shapes as if Hania had laid her wooden playing blocks across the rocky outcropping and their father had conjured it into reality.
Except these blocks weren’t wood but white stone. Stone that had been hauled from the far west, from beyond Dragonspine, Alenna said. On a clear day, the temple would sit propped up in a bright sky, catching the brilliance of the sun like a beacon. But in the gloom of the storm it stood solemn and grey.
The rain had lightened to a soft mist as they traveled up the short path to the temple. Matthias carried Hania on his back, a tired bundle of soggy fabric clinging to his shoulders. Anariel held Teldris’ hands in hers.
Lancer Yael accompanied them and along the way, Lancer Josan joined in as well. They filled in the silence left behind by Berand and Alenna, the former walking slowly beside the occupied cart with his eyes fixed firmly onto the temple.
The two Lancers spoke about their coming shifts, the fraughtful weather, and the Vaunt with Matthias and Teldris' many fights. They skirted a large hole around the last unsanctioned match and Teldris thought that it might be a matter of avoiding the fact that Josan had clearly egged on the fight.
Teldris held an umbrella that Josan had brought to them. It was wide enough to encompass her and Matthias with Anariel squeezed in between them. The three of them had to alter their gait, consciously aware of the other as they walked.
A squeeze on her hand had Teldris looking down at her little sister.
Anariel’s strength was flagging. Her short legs began to stumble out of time with the rest of them. Teldris removed her hand from her sister’s grip. She wouldn’t mind carrying Anariel if it weren’t for the presence of Alenna and Berand. They were only halfway to the temple, another five minute walk.
Teldris held Anariel by the wrist instead, a subtle tug and insistent look for Anariel to push on. She couldn’t see Anariel’s reaction but Teldris knew enough from her sister’s bowed head.
“It’s just a little further,” Teldris whispered.
Anariel’s head bobbed in a slight nod.
Then she noticed Anariel’s palm, inflamed pink on the fleshy part and stippled an angry red.
“What happened?” Teldris hissed.
“I fell,” Anariel whispered back as she tugged her hand away.
Hania, who had been content with watching the side of the road pass by, twisted to look at her sisters. “Someone pushed her over,” Hania said. “And then she fell.”
“Who?” Teldris asked.
Anariel shrugged.
Alenna sat up straighter. “Let me see your hand, Ana.” She reached one hand out over the short sides of the cart and Anariel dutifully obeyed. Alenna pursed her lips, rubbing a thumb over Anariel’s palm. Teldris walked side by side with Matthias.
He looked like he was about to say something but a pointed glare from Teldris caused him to find interest in the surrounding terrain. She was relieved. It wasn’t until she heard a gasp from Anariel who held her hand before her face in awe, that Matthias straightened his shoulders and turned to speak.
“Ezz— Teldris, I want—” He startled when Teldris turned her head to meet his eyes. He even stepped back a pace and she felt a measure of guilt.
“Why do you insist on calling me that?” Teldris asked, careful to temper the bite in her tone. “I dislike it, Matt. It’s unfamiliar to me.”
Matthias nodded to himself. His eyes traced the path ahead of them where the temple’s base emerged from the sleepy mist, revealing a dress of lush green grass and bands of grey and yellow stone. A half-height dry stone wall ringed the flat surface of the peninsula like a collar. Three flights of switchback stairs trailed down its steep slope, glistening wet in the dim light of the day.
“Because that’s what you call your sister,” Matthias said to the yawning face of the temple as it came closer. A heavy set of double doors set on a wall curving outwards, a room set to the side had an open window devoid of light, damp curtains swayed heavily in the wind. “Hania calls you ezza all the time.”
“But I’m not your sister,” Teldris shot back. She watched Anariel brush the fine golden dust from her palm where the skin beneath it lay pale and flawless. “I don’t feel like your sister. I’ve known you for less than two years.”
Matthias pushed the damp curls of his hair out of his face with a frustrated sigh. “How are you supposed to know me if you insist on pushing me away? You’ve never accepted me. How can we trust each other as wardens must? Like Warden Isolde and Warden Ajorn?”
“Is that who you want us to be?” she asked in disgust. “Lovers?”
“No,” Matthias uttered. “But—”
Anariel’s cry rent the air and both Teldris and Matthias twisted to see Alenna slumped over the cart. Anariel strained as she held the woman up with her trembling arms.
Teldris rushed to the Matron’s side. Alenna was limp in her arms. She could hear Anariel’s labored gasps behind her, the hitches in her breathing.
Around Teldris, everyone had burst into motion. Berand pulled the camel to a stop and both lancers came running up from the rear. Their boots squelched over the wet dirt, kicking up a musty earthen odor.
“Matt,” she hissed, nodding to her sister. He was already placing Hania on the ground. Then he knelt by Anariel’s side.
Alenna was a heavy woman and the leathers she wore were slippery from the dewy rain. Josan and Yael insisted on helping, though Teldris could have lifted the Matron easily on her own. They laid her gently across the floor of the cart, her head cradled by Berand’s cape.
The lancers were alarmed, and save for Anariel whose momentary panic had her struggling to calm herself, Teldris wasn’t worried. It wasn’t the first time Alenna had fainted. The Matron’s boon, gifted to her by Malhayar, had a great physical toll.
Teldris didn’t dare look at Berand as he brushed Alenna’s hair from her face. The air above the cart shimmered until it spanned the opening. To her horror, it almost resembled a coffin though she knew that it was to secure the woman as they moved.
“She’ll be all right,” Teldris muttered, so low that it might as well have been more for herself than anyone else.
Earlier in the year, a man had been crushed on the pier by a boat that had slipped its moorings. She recalled the tear-streaked faces of the fishermen as they burst into the temple and Alenna’s grim face as she raced away on Cassia toward the beach.
The Matron had returned only to sleep for the rest of the afternoon, awake in time to throw packets of steamed fish and vegetables on the hearth for dinner. Teldris had even given Matthias a black eye that day as they bickered and fought without the Matron’s close supervision; Alenna had healed that too.
Everyone had moved on and Teldris found herself standing on the path alone. She had been gazing at the water that stretched out below them, a dark blanket shifting on the horizon. The sea sounded further away here as they made their way up the peninsula.
Matthias and Josan glanced back toward her but it was only Matthias who waited for her to catch up.
“Is she all right?” he asked when they strode side by side.
“Father thinks she’s fine,” she replied brusquely. “I think so as well.”
“She’s done this before.” Matthias nodded as if it was enough to satisfy him. “She’ll wake up. She always does.”