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By the time the winds calmed, night had come. It swept through the charred skeleton of the barn, disturbing only ashes. The columns of timber that had somehow survived the inferno stood as menacing tree trunks rising from a pile of the still-smoldering wreckage, remains of the roof tangled among it.
There had been no life left there.
By moonlight, Val tried to push through the debris and make her way inside - the doors had been sturdy and remained barred shut. They’d done as intended, holding each soul within the walls.
She pushed, and piles of wood would give, crumbling beneath her fingers and leaving only soot. It now covered her hands and arms - all the way to the elbow. Her face and hair had been smeared, and what remained of her clothes hung, weighed down by dirt.
Twice, now, she’d seen a face - so badly burned and mangled that she had to get very close to know that it was not his. So many arms and legs lay crushed beneath the rubble, burned, and darkened with blood.
The clouds covered the moon, and all light was extinguished.
She made her way outside and stood, looking back.
She’d sit, and she would wait.
She would wait until the clouds cleared.
She would wait until the moon or stars would light her path.
And then she would begin the search again.
Val sat in the trampled grass. She hugged her knees, her eyes on the dark building. And, she waited.
Twice more, she’d gotten up to her feet, and twice more, she entered the wreckage.
Once, she cut herself on a sword buried in the ash. Endless splinters lodged themselves in her hands, and she tripped across a hundred things hidden in the darkness of the covered floor.
Twice more, she returned with nothing.
The early morning found a girl so exhausted that she barely reached her feet. Near collapsing under her own weight, she climbed across a piece of lumber she had set across some rubble - creating a makeshift bridge into the barn. She surveyed the area she already searched, but this time in the light. Much of it had not even changed its color since the night. All in front of her was darkened with the fire’s breath. Black.
This time, she walked among them. Men everywhere, they died crushed, their heads split open or ran through with a sword—so many whose armor had done nothing to preserve them, or worse, cooked them inside. So many whose faces had now melted into only one - the pained, black, burned face of agony.
It was not so large that she could not find her way around. But, it had been difficult to make even a foot of progress with how cumbersome moving things had been. A part of the landing had miraculously remained - she climbed to it carefully to find that both packs had been intact. They stood untouched in a pool of liquid from a broken vial. She bent and smelled it.
Cinnamon and stitchwort.
It had been a pyrophobic concoction used to handle Nothing-touched trinkets with eternal flames. It spilled throughout and unfortunately ruined whatever had been at the bottom of the bags, but the rest of the contents remained safe.
It was in his pack the entire time…
She saw the broken remains of the All-Father’s Reach stuck in a splintered beam. Her eyes lingered on it as if she didn’t quite understand.
The better part of the day was spent like this. Back and forth between the soot and rubble. Looking into every face she passed along the way. So many could have been him, but they were mangled far beyond recognition.
But her heart knew.
She pressed her hand against her abdomen, closing her eyes. Listening. But she felt nothing. Where it had radiated twice that of what she felt was only silence.
Perhaps it was because she felt nothing at all.
Toward evening, she found the hunter’s knife.
It was wedged into the ground, where the walls collapsed against the sturdy door frame. She moved aside the remains of a man’s breastplate and cradled the weapon carefully in her hands. Beyond it, the stone bases of the building stood with the parts of the roof collapsed onto it. Her heart jumped. She went to find anything she could grab onto to clear the way. Everything had been so tightly lodged together.
She heard a snort.
Climbing atop a fallen pillar, she peeked over the wall. Aditi stood, her head low, ears twitching - her eyes watching the burned barn.
“Aditi…” Val’s voice had been so hoarse that the mare’s name came out in only a whisper. But the animal’s ears twitched again, her eyes finding Val.
She made her way out and she wrapped her arms around the mare’s neck. They stood this way for a moment. But, daylight was precious; however much relief the sight of the animal had brought.
Stolen novel; please report.
Val pulled the leather straps and reins off of the dead horses outside - most had run, but a few had been slain with arrows or falling debris from atop the barn. She tied them as best she could to the iron handles of the doors, placing a loop padded with a saddle blanket against Aditi’s neck.
“Come,” Val’s raspy voice urged her on. “Come on.”
She pulled at the reins, and Aditi went forward - the harness against her neck straining.
“Come, girl.” Val encouraged her.
The leather strained and twisted but did not break.
“Come on, girl,” Val said comfortingly as the pressure built against the saddle blanket - the force cutting into Aditi’s chest.
Something cracked and splintered - then a loud creak - and the snapping of the leather straps. The harness had broken, but one of the barn doors stood slightly ajar - the partially burned-up remains of the bar lock split on the ground.
She ran to it. She tried to squeeze through the opening but couldn’t, so she pulled on the stuck door until it gave and swung to the side, dislodging a piece of the fallen wall that had nearly crushed Val beneath it. She’d fallen back against the door, her heart pounding and the tips of her fingers tingling.
Inside, where the roof had collapsed, the floorboards of the landing above had kept it from crashing to the ground. This unsteady, deadly canopy sheltered three figures among the wreckage.
The current of air from the newly opened door kicked up gray ash, which settled slowly back onto the ground. Val hurried to the nearest one. It’d been a man she had not known. His helmet had protected him from the heat, and bare skin cut across his throat had remained preserved from the flames. She left him where he was.
The other two had lay together. One was slumped over the other, face down. She ran to them and, with difficulty, pulled the one on top, rolling him to his back. In the light, golden hair and beard remained, even if the face had been slashed. She shoved him aside and, to her horror, saw that the sword had remained lodged into flesh. Johannes’ body had blocked much of the damage that the flames brought about, but the fatal wound was clear - Johannes’ parting gift, a deep cut ran from the chest and down his abdomen.
Oh gods…
Marat.
Marat lay on his back, one arm raised as if to shield his chest, now limp against it. He’d been so badly burned. The fire ate away at his shirt, his legs, his hair. She recoiled when she saw that it had also taken half his face.
She was afraid to touch him as if he had not been real. She’d searched so long, and the image of him in her mind had been so different - much like that of the man she knew. And this was him, but soot stuck to the dried blood, making him nearly unrecognizable to anyone but her.
“Come on.” She whispered, bracing herself and making an effort to pull him out. But, he was too heavy. She came up from behind where he lay and went to grab him - but it was the burned side. She saw the skin peeling off his flesh, caked with dirt and ash. She stopped.
It would hurt him if she touched it.
Val stood behind his head and carefully slipped her arms under his shoulders. She felt the awful texture that the fire had left behind and squeezed her eyes shut as she pulled him up against her. She struggled to bring his good arm around her neck so she could half carry - half drag his feet and bring him out of the barn.
Outside, she set him down gingerly on the grass. He had not usually worn much of an expression - but now his face lacked even that.
She swallowed. The only thing she thought of for more than a day now was to find him.
Find him find him find him.
And she did. What was she to do now?
She felt the pressure build within her head and jaw. The rushing of her blood was all she could hear, she realized. There’d been no birds, no wind, no rustling of the blades of grass or creaking of the wood.
It was just silence, as silent as it could be within her - with all that rushing blood.
She blinked, expecting him to open his eyes at any moment. It was him, right there, and if she covered one eye and did not see his burns, he would look almost…
She felt the tears build from the inside.
No…
She stood. It was evening, and they needed shelter. She took a sword she had pulled from the rubble hours ago and made her way to the door of the half-dugout home. She tried to lift it and swing at the boards, but the sword had been so much heavier than it appeared. It was three-quarters her height and so heavy that her wrists hurt when she even attempted to bring it as high as her waist.
Instead, she used it as a shim - jamming it between the board and the door. She pulled it toward herself to no avail. Letting go, she took a few good breaths and grabbed it again - this time putting her whole weight and near hanging off of it - until, by the gods, the board creaked and the nails came sliding out of the wood.
The sword fell to the ground, taking Val with it.
The inside was warm and dusty - and empty except for a bench, a small firepit in the middle of the room, and a rusty kettle laying on its side - a hole where the metal had worn through near the spout.
Much in the same fashion as before, she dragged Marat down the three steps and carefully set him on the ground. His body looked like it was so uncomfortable, so, she rearranged him to lay still with his arms at his sides.
It took her the better part of an hour, but she found the nearly dried up well and filled the kettle. When she returned, she lit a small fire - being careful to keep him far from it, as far as the room allowed. She washed his face, his chest, his arms, his legs. She wiped away the soot, the ash and the blood. She did not know what to do with his burns; she did not touch them. She learned much at the apothecary but had no honey or calendula on hand to treat him now.
“Less than a day from the city…” She whispered to herself, the weight of the silence keeping her from speaking too loudly. “That’s what the notch post said. I’ll go tomorrow. I’ll bring some back.”
The cut on his cheek had been deep. She discovered another on his arm. When she had pulled off his shirt, it had been so stuck down with blood.
She washed it, too.
And then, she sat next to him. Again, she felt the tears swell. She was so tired.
For All-Father’s sake, why do you always cry?
She could hear his words now. His voice. It’d sounded so familiar, so real. So much more real than anything around her had felt. She glanced, but it was not he who spoke. Perhaps no one did at all. He lay so still. Even in the soft, dancing light of the small fire, she could see how even and pale his skin had been.
She swallowed hard again. She was in no condition to sit here awake another night. All had been well –she found him. She would not have to go back to the charred wreckage again.
Val pulled a blanket out of her bag. A corner of it was still soaked in the pyrophobic oil. She rubbed it between her hands and looked at him. She lightly touched across his face, neck, and hands with what remained of the concoction. Then, she lay down next to him, pulling the blanket over them. She closed her eyes, and instinctively her fingers had woven into his.
They were so cold.
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