Eighth of Harvest

When Belkai was six, her mother had told her a story about a fairy who could control the snow. She would create monuments and statues out of snow and ice in the most remote places in the mountains where no one but bears and wolves could appreciate them. When Belkai asked why she made them in such secret places, her mother had hugged her and told her that the most important, most beautiful things were always found where no one could see. And the most beautiful thing was your heart. Later that year, her mother had left her husband and daughter to chase a bard across Lustria. She’d learned at six that words were cheap.

Belkai thought about that as she unfurled her bedroll and lay beneath the stars. Her only shelter was an apple tree whose fruit was just becoming ripe. She plucked one and took a bite, savouring the juice and reflecting on her mother. What had she really been like? Would she have stayed if she’d known who her daughter would become? Fascinated by the idea of magic, Belkai had sought out the local mages and at age fifteen found an Order that was willing to take her in. Her father had objected at first, but after the first year of training accepted the joy that she’d found there. She’d kept touch with him, and he’d only gotten prouder of her over the years. She’d never heard a word from her mother. When she’d passed through Lustria on her way to Svaleta, she’d fought off the urge to search her out. She’d made that decision twenty years ago. By now it was on her own head, not Belkai’s. Once again she found herself alone, unable to rely on anyone but herself.

She threw the apple away and closed her eyes to listen to the gentle breeze blowing through the leaves above her. Her mind reached out, and she felt the wind pushing the grass this way and that. She found peace in the random movements. You could learn much from the wind if you were willing to simply listen. She slowly fell into a peaceful sleep and dreamed that she was that fairy, creating ice monuments for bears to wonder at.

* * *

She woke to the sound of screams. Dawn was starting to break as she leapt to her feet and looked around. To the east she saw a farmer’s ranch, a barn already on fire. She turned away and began to pack away her bedroll. It’s not your concern, she told herself. A second thought stopped her cold. Isn’t that what Mother thought? She strapped on her cloak and lifted her pack onto her shoulders, then began to run towards the ranch. The screams changed pitch, pain mixing with the earlier fear. She could hear a man yelling, protesting whatever was happening. The barn continued to burn, and as she drew closer she could make out a half dozen figures running across the compound. Bandits, she recognised. She’d found one of the infamous raiding parties. She knew enough about the Aliri to recognise an attempt to destabilise Svaleta’s food supply, and by extension its economy. Geopolitics weren’t her concern, but she didn’t want to see innocent lives stolen when she could intervene. She slowed as she came to the outskirts of the ranch. The burning barn was off to her left. On her right was the main house, where the screams were coming from. Two men were moving through the stable killing the horses. Four others carried clothes and jewellery to a carriage. They stopped when they saw Belkai highlighted by the flames. She threw her pack to the side and reached under her cloak for her Aliri daggers. One of the men called out, and they were joined by the two men from the stable. Six on one, Belkai thought. A fair fight. All six men carried the distinctive curved blades of Aliri scimitars, but didn’t carry themselves like soldiers. Equipped by the Aliri, but not trained. Some level of plausible deniability. She stood her ground as the men circled her. One stepped forward, clearly their leader. He was older, a long scar down one cheek a testimony to a violent past.

“What are you doing here?” he spat. “This is no place for a lady.”

Belkai drew her hands out of her cloak, each holding a dagger with the blade facing down.

“I just thought I’d check the place out, maybe try some roast meat,” she said with a shrug. She sensed the other five drawing closer as she kept her eyes locked on the leader. “Mind if I use yours?”

There was no use playing innocent like she had with Milton. He was a bully, not a threat. Her only concern there was secrecy. But against six, you wanted to play on the ego, force them into a mistake.

“You’re dead,” the leader growled, and took two steps forward. He went no further. Belkai ducked and leapt forward, her right hand bringing the dagger around and ripping the blade through his throat. Blood sprayed the dirt as he fell to his knees gagging his final breaths. She felt fury surge through the other raiders, and turned to face them. She ducked under the first sword, slashed a dagger through the attacker’s wrist, then thrust the second up through his chin and into his skull. She spun, parried another sword, then slashed his throat. Three down, three more. She closed her eyes and threw the daggers, each lodging in a raider’s forehead. Eyes still shut, she felt the third raising his sword for a killing blow.

The first lesson that her Order had taught was to shut off her natural senses and reach out to embrace the world around her. The foundation of their magic was the ability to feel what others felt, not just emotionally but physically and spiritually. They could ‘reach’ inside someone and feel their heartbeat, their food being swallowed, their lungs expanding. They could feel wind blowing through trees a dozen feet away. They could throw an object with their eyes shut and hit centre target. Everything the Order taught was based on the principle of ‘reaching out’.

In the moment before the sword carved into her skull, Belkai felt the raider’s lungs as he hyperventilated. In a moment, she crushed them, then cast his arms aside. She opened her eyes to find him staring up at her, his mouth opening and shutting as he tried in vain to take a final breath. His sword was embedded in the ground beside him.

“Call it justice,” she whispered as his eyes went dim. Another scream caught her attention, and she ran to the main house.

She was too late. Two more raiders stood over the dead family, their eyes filled with rage as they turned to face the newcomer. Belkai didn’t hesitate. Green light shone from her hands as she gave them the same fate as Milton. Then she fell to her knees and swayed as her head spun. That was the price of her magic – the power you exerted to control another drained you. She added her vomit to the blood on the wooden floor, then collapsed.

* * *

She woke an hour later and slowly raised herself to her feet. She glanced outside to see that the fire had spread to the barn. It was time to move. She stumbled outside and retrieved her daggers, pausing only to wipe them clean on the raiders’ bodies. She found her pack and looked up at the sky to find southwest, then set out, willing the weakness out of her legs. She prayed that the fire would consume all evidence, but something told her that that wouldn’t happen. There was officially a trail of bodies behind her now. If someone made the connection, she wouldn’t be alone for much longer. Belkai was running out of time to find her objective, but she still had several days ahead of her.

For the first time since she’d left the Ikari Dominion, Belkai truly felt alone. But the Order had prepared her for that too. In the second year of her training, she had been drugged, blindfolded, and left stranded in the Artax Mountains with no food, no weapons, and no money. Her instructions were to find her way back to the Order by any means necessary. It was a standard rite of passage, brutal in its simplicity. Around half the trainees eventually made their way back to the Order. Others returned to the world, either finding their way to their families or starting a new life in a town that they came across. Others simply disappeared, the occasional body being found somewhere along a deserted track. The concept was simple enough: the initiate would have to rely only on their own instincts to find help and means of survival. Some would live off the land, others would find ways to bribe or trick villagers into providing transportation.

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Belkai had been sixteen. For the first few hours she panicked, hiding in the shelter of a ditch as she tried to force herself to breathe. That day she made her first kill, stopping the heart of a squirrel that wandered into the ditch. She had no way of skinning it, so she cooked it whole. The next twelve hours were spent fighting diarrhoea and vomiting from undercooking it. That was an important lesson learned. She spent the next three days hunting, experimenting, learning what she could and couldn’t cook or eat. She fashioned a makeshift dagger from a wolf’s paw, stitching three claws together onto a sturdy stick, and sharpening them on a rock. Two days later she wandered into a trading post and had her first drink when an orc bought her a beer. That was a rare moment of compassion. There were few others. By chance or intention Belkai didn’t know, but she’d been dropped in a corner of the mountains inhabited by particularly isolationist orcs. They had no love for pale-skinned humans, and she’d learned to follow the roads while staying hidden, reaching out to sense any passers-by before they knew she was near.

Another three weeks passed, and she jumped off a farmer’s carriage and walked the final six hours to the Order. Unlike many initiates, she arrived well fed, rested, and eager to continue her training. That set her apart from most her age. Her mentors recognised that somewhere in the wilderness she had faced a crisis moment and made the decision to win at any cost. Upon her return, she had an insatiable desire to know everything that they would teach her, and she quickly became the head of her class.

Belkai cleared the memories from her mind. There were too many dangers, too many threats, for her to become distant. She forced her attention onto the present and quickened her step. The main road was a about a mile to her right, close enough to follow but far enough away that she wouldn’t be noticed. By nightfall she should be halfway to King’s Crossing. There she could truly rest in the anonymity of a traveller’s inn. Then the journey would truly begin.

* * *

Rangir had hardly slept since they’d encountered the beast three days before. His dreams were filled with death and blood, the ruins of his comrades’ bodies visiting him each night to ask why he had survived while they perished. Aren’t our families as important as yours? They seemed to ask. Do our lives mean nothing compared to yours? He had no answers for the dead, nor for his own conscience. Every night he would rise early, wandering the camp to the amusement of the sentries. But they hadn’t seen what he’d seen, felt the fear that had gripped him that fateful night. The captain had been sent back to the capital to see the healers in the Temple. His replacement was named Ertas, a former guard commander in the Quarries and their prison camps. He’d only arrived the night before, but the rumours had already begun. Some said that he’d been transferred because of his reliance on torture to gain the obedience of the prisoners in the Quarries. Others said that he’d requested the transfer. He was eager to see real combat, they said. Rangir had dismissed all the rumours. There was likely truth and lies in each. Only time would reveal the true story.

He was startled out of his reverie by a gruff voice from the tent he was passing.

“Hold it!” He slowly turned to see Ertas stepping out, and instinctively straightened up and assumed a position of attention. Ertas waved for him to relax. “It’s far from dawn, soldier. What are you doing?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” Rangir admitted. Ertas studied his face for a moment, and recognition flashed in his eyes.

“Your name is Rangir, correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

Ertas thought for a moment, then waved him into the tent. “We should talk.”

Rangir hesitated but followed the captain inside. He took the offered seat beside a map table and looked around the tent. Ertas had the same cot as the regular soldiers, but his bedroll was certainly more expensive. Otherwise the tent was bare, only serving as storage for the captain’s equipment. Ertas sat across from Rangir and yawned.

“From what I’ve heard of what you faced, I wouldn’t sleep either.”

“I was told that was a secret,” Rangir said, instantly realising that he shouldn’t have said anything. But Ertas simply chuckled.

“You can’t keep that hidden, Rangir,” he said. “A lot of good men died, from what I hear.”

“It was our first fight,” Rangir replied. “We did the best we could.”

“It could have been worse,” Ertas allowed. “Your old captain, he trained you hard?”

“Hard enough,” Rangir said cautiously. “I don’t think anyone could have anticipated what we fought.”

“I don’t doubt that.” Ertas glanced at the map before him. “I want you to be my deputy, Rangir. You’re short on experience, but you killed that beast. That got you the respect of the company, whether you recognise it or not.”

Rangir realised that he was blushing but remained silent. Ertas nodded, as if satisfied by the response.

“Anyone can handle the occasional smuggler or orc party that wanders through the Forest,” Ertas continued. “The challenge will be if more of these things appear. We have to train as if they will. We will lose men, but we won’t let any through. My orders don’t allow any failure. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.” It was clear to Rangir. If any monsters got past their lines, they would face strict judgement by the king. Execution usually followed the phrase “no failure allowed”. It was a tough system, but few commanders failed in their duty. That’s a good sign, right?

“Get some sleep, Rangir,” the captain ordered, standing up slowly and stretching. “We have a long day ahead of us. We’re monster hunters now.”

* * *

The sun was setting as Belkai stopped by a brook to bathe. It had been a hard march since the encounter with the raiders, and a growing sense of unease had only added to her burden. After making sure she was alone, she slipped out of her clothes and dropped into the water, sighing as the cold soothed her tired muscles. If her initiation trek had taught her anything, it was an appreciation for nature, and the knowledge of how to listen to what it was telling her. Rivers might not speak, but she could sense if it were disturbed, could hear the faint sounds that the waters carried with them. Someone would have found the bodies by now, she was sure of that. The fire would have been spotted long ago, and the militia would surely have investigated.

She lifted herself out of the river and reached into her pack to retrieve an apple. She stood still as she ate, letting the cool breeze dry her skin.

“What have you gotten yourself into, girl?” she whispered. “What were you thinking?”

For the smallest of moments she let herself feel the pain of uncertainty, but forced it aside. It was too late for regret. Far too late. With a sigh, she threw the apple core into the river, feeling its light splash, then used her cloak to finish drying herself. Digging through her pack, she pulled on a pair of pale blue pants and a leather shirt. She soaked her old clothes and hung them over some rocks to dry through the night. She needed to hunt, to find something other than stolen fruit to fill her stomach. But even so, she was only delaying the inevitable.

In truth, Belkai knew the Tormentor would return. Every night he would plague her, filling her mind with his poison. Most people followed the ancient religions, though only giving lip service to the deities that they professed to believe in. She knew the Temple of the Sun was in the city of Svaleta, but she didn’t dare journey there. Her orders were clear, and no interruption would be acceptable. Other than the Temple, she knew, many of the citizens simply followed their own paths. There was no unity, even if the Temple was loved and respected. It was very unlike the orcs and their forced allegiances. The freedom was strange, almost enticing.

But it meant that her plight would be unrecognisable to those she encountered. They knew nothing of darkness, nothing of the sinister forces that plagued her heart and mind. No, the Tormentor would return. Nothing she could do would stop that.

In the near distance a wolf howled, and Belkai smiled. For now she would hunt. Her demons would have to wait.