Amale watched helplessly as his patient turned his face away, unseeing eyes staring at some unfixed point in the distance. The wounded ferix soldier took one deep breath, then another, then stilled. Amale waited a few, quiet moments, then stood slowly and pulled the blanket over the soldier’s body. The same story played out all across the grid of cots in the parade ground, as Forgeheart’s army was steadily reduced to a row of covered soldiers waiting for cremation. Amale swallowed but the lump in his throat wouldn’t go away. It might have been easier if the ferix cried out in pain or fear, but they each faced death with a grim stoicism that somehow hurt more to watch. There was no pleading, no grief. There was just. . . nothing. And then they were gone.
Amale looked down at his paws, stained red from the tips of his fingers to halfway up his forearms. He now knew how the Red Paws originally earned their name.
“You okay, Amale?”
He responded sluggishly to the familiar voice. It was Tovash, “Ash” for short—the medic who had given him back his healer’s kit and told him to report to the Red Paws after battle. She placed a strong paw on his shoulder and forced his eyes away from the deceased patient. “How long has it been since you’ve slept?” she asked tersely.
Amale shook his head. “I’m fine, Ash.”
“How long?”
“Since the battle. Couple days.”
Tovash sighed. “You’re done. Take a break, get some sleep. Come back in a few hours.”
“I can’t, I have to—”
Ash chuffed, the sound catching Amale off guard. They were amid all this misery and death, and she had actually managed to laugh. “All of us healers are the same,” she said. “We’ll do whatever we can to help others, but when it comes to taking care of ourselves, we’re lousy patients.” She hunched down so they were eye-to-eye. “Look, d—” She was about to say ‘dog’, but remembered their conversation from the previous day. “Er, sorry. What do your people call themselves again?”
“Orrkhae,” Amale said, the language of his homeland rolling gracefully off his tongue.
“Well, Mister Orrkhae, I’m the ranking medical officer here and, since you reported to me, you’re under my command.” Tovash’s face hardened. “Go. Sleep. That’s an order.”
Amale wiped an eye, leaving a wet streak of blood on his face. He nodded weakly and began his walk back to the crash tent in an exhaustion-fueled trance, memory and reality blurring together.
He had never experienced anything like the aftermath of the siege. His role as a healer before had been solely in patching up minor wounds, administering medicine to the sick, perhaps a bit of stitching in a few extreme cases. He had never treated truly dire wounds, and had never lost a patient. That streak was broken soon after he reported to the Red Paws. Then, he lost a second one. Then another, and another after that. He lost his tenth patient, his twentieth. Then he lost count.
Though he had learned more about healing in the past two days than in the prior two years and had helped save the lives of dozens, he still couldn’t get the faces of the dead out of his mind—the silent, cold way they accepted death, that look in their eyes when he told them there was nothing more he could do. There was always a flash of feeling before their discipline kicked in. In that moment, Amale could see everything they felt and it was always the same: I am in pain and I’m afraid. He remained by the side of each patient as they died. Each time he watched their lives ebb away, he felt a little bit of himself go with them. Yet he stood vigil each and every time. He didn’t want them to have to pass from the world alone.
His helplessness in those moments ate at his insides, but even worse was his inability to comfort his own companions. Whenever he checked on Jo, Kaja would turn to him with pleading questions and each time Amale had to break her heart by saying they could only wait and see if Jo recovered. It hurt him almost as much as seeing the wounded die, to see the pain he caused Kaja by not being able to help their friend.
By the time he reached the edge of the triage site, Amale was crying. He hurried out of sight of the other medics just as his emotions started to overwhelm him. But where could he go? The apartment had been destroyed, and he didn’t want to be around people anymore. Presented with limited options, he ducked through one of Forgeheart’s outer gates, his breath quickening as he made for the open steppeland.
Healers would be surrounded by pain and fear and death all their lives. They had to immerse themselves in it, to face it as stoically as the ferix, and persevere because people were depending on them. But Amale couldn’t stand the pain. He hated it. He reached under his tunic and clutched the nature goddess talisman that hung round his neck, squeezing it so hard that it cut into his paw pads.
Why had he ever wanted to be a healer? Why had he cursed himself with this ambition?
The world around him blurred with tears as he started to run, his exhausted mind falling once more into memory.
*
*
Rain drummed upon the thatched roof of the hut, but the cozy warmth of a crackling fire inside held out the storm’s chill. Itshe Huzi wrapped a blanket closer around his body as he stoked the fire where a bowl of stew bubbled. His mate, Maua Kifi, breastfed their newborn pup in the corner, half-asleep and exhausted. The baby’s pup-name was “Suncaller”, as determined by the shaman, but they hadn’t realized just how appropriate it would be—he frequently woke the family during the night with his cries, as if trying to call the sun back to begin a new day early.
Their oldest child, Mzuri Ziwa, tried to help her mother with the new pup, but she was twelve years old and pups were not nearly as interesting as her friends—especially her male friends—were starting to be. The fact that she was stuck inside with her family so early in the evening mortified her. She gazed out the small window longingly, half worrying that her friends were having fun without her and half cursing the rain for keeping her from them.
Maua looked up. “Itshe. . . I’m worried about Waterleaf.”
Itshe was silent. He stoked the fire, the soft crunching of coals his only response.
“Aren’t you?” Maua pressed.
“It’s only a little rain, Maua,” Itshe said. “You know how he is, he likes being outside and he never goes far. He might be wet and cold and ready for supper, but he’ll be back soon.”
Maua bit her lip. The pup stirred at her breast, sensing his mother’s anxiety.
Itshe rose, taking the blanket off his body and wrapping it around his mate. It was embroidered with images of Imperial legionnaires offering homage to one of their strange gods. He had bought it in Arsinium, an Imperial outpost town on the borders of Acathia, with some metal coins. It seemed like an odd trade to Itshe, but it was one the Imperial merchants had heartily welcomed. Maua smiled up at Itshe, feeling her mate’s body heat radiating from the blanket. Itshe leaned down and nuzzled her softly, their large ears relaxing back with contentment.
Just then the leather flap of the hut opened, letting in a blast of cold air and rain. Maua yelped and the pup immediately began to wail. Mzuri, wrenched out of her daydreaming, stared with contempt at what had entered. In the doorway, clad only in the little wrap orrkhae children wore, stood her younger brother, Waterleaf. His fur was drenched to the bone and his wilted ears dripped water all over the floor. He held up a small bird for his parents to see as barely coherent words began spilling from his mouth. “I found a bird and it wasn’t moving and I tried to help it but I couldn’t get it to stand up. I think it's hurt or sick or I dunno but I can’t help it please I need help it’s hurrrrrrt!”
Maua recoiled, shielding her pup from the cold and the seemingly dead animal Waterleaf had dragged into their home. Suncaller’s cries only intensified. “Itshe. . . Itshe, please, the baby. . .”
Itshe ushered their young son back outside. “Come, Waterleaf,” he said. “Let’s have a look at your bird. . .”
*
*
Leif spotted Amale hurrying out of the triage site. His ears were droopy and he kept wiping his face in clear distress. Leif’s first instinct was to catch up to him and ask him what was wrong, but his second instinct stopped him—he had known Amale for years, long enough to know that when his friend was that upset, he preferred to be left alone. Leif watched Amale disappear around a corner of rubble, then continued his own walk into the parade grounds. He might not be able to bring any comfort to Amale at that moment, but there was one person who was hurting and who Leif hadn’t had a proper conversation with since the siege ended. He took a breath and shoved his apprehension deep down into the crevice where he stored all his inconvenient emotions.
He found Kaja at her usual post, ever watchful over Jo’s deathly still form. “Hey, Kaja,” he greeted awkwardly. “Can I sit with you?”
Kaja’s eyes flicked over to him briefly but she didn’t reply.
Taking her silence as the best answer he could hope for, Leif took a seat next to her. “Jo’s tougher than any of us. She’ll be okay,” he said. Kaja sniffed softly and Leif put a hesitant hand on her shoulder. She flinched under his touch but didn’t move away. “You were pretty tough out there too, you know,” he continued. “Not many of us can say we went up against the mighty Ironfang and lived to tell the tale. We’ll be legends!” This time Kaja turned her face away from him. Leif removed his hand and looked down. How could he make things right between them? “Did I ever tell you how I got this scar?” he said, pointing to a crescent-shaped mark under his left eye.
Kaja looked over tentatively, then shook her head.
“My brother, Ulric, was playing with wood axes and got the bright idea to throw one at my head. I was only five or six at the time, you should have seen the ass-whoop—er, scolding our parents gave him.” Leif smiled at the memory. “I don’t think he meant to hurt me, though. Or maybe he did. You never know with brothers, hah!”
Kaja didn’t say anything at first. “You have a brother?” she asked quietly.
“Yeah, and two sisters. All older. I’m the baby of the family so I got picked on and beat up like you wouldn’t believe! But I gave as good as I got.”
“I. . . see.”
Leif waited another few moments but when it became clear that Kaja wasn’t going to say anything more, he stood. “Well, I better go check on that elf. You know how delicate he is,” he said. Kaja tried to smile, but her eyes were sad.
Once Leif was a good distance away, he paused to curse his pounding heart and tried to still the tremble in his fingers. It was just Kaja. Sweet, little Kaja. He had nothing to fear. Dragons were wild and dangerous, sure, but not Kaja.
Not Kaja. . .
*
*
More than a mile away from Forgeheart’s outer walls, Amale finally collapsed to his knees. Gasping for air as his grief and exhaustion took full control, he hugged his arms around himself and surrendered. He wept until his abdominals burned, until his eyes were nearly swollen shut. He wept until, finally, the edge had been taken off and he was able to think once more. He opened his aching eyes, the silent grassland slowly coming into focus.
Neither the rolling, forested hills of Balthissica, where he and Leif served their time in the auxilia, nor the urban sprawl of Aurelia had truly given his mind room to wander like the Snowskull Steppes. It reminded him sorely of home, all it needed was a few acacia trees and warm, red dust instead of snow, so seeing the ruin that Ironfang’s ambition wrecked upon the land and its people affected Amale deeply.
Amale’s people were not warriors— they were hunters. They killed for food and they killed to defend themselves. He supposed the lives he had taken on the steppe could be considered to be in self-defense or in the defense of his pack, however, if that were true, then why did they, too, weigh so heavily upon him? Not for the first time, he envied Leif. Things always seemed so easy for him. No matter what action Leif took, no matter the outcome, he was always certain he was in the right. For Amale, things were not so clear.
He lifted himself up from the snow and sat crossed-leg in the frozen grass. The sun had gone down and the sky was a dark, bluish-gray, the wind subsiding to a gentle breeze. Amale closed his eyes and banished all thoughts of the shiftless ghosts haunting his steps. He shut out the caws of the carrion crows rising over the battlefield. He did not think of the siege or the dying or the Irkallu, nor did he think of his friends—of loyal and brave Leif or little Kaja, waiting anxiously at Jo’s bedside. He pushed all of it from his mind and, for a moment, existed purely in the present. He felt the cold snow under his paws. He felt sharp grass tickling his back. He felt the cool wind ruffling his fur.
He took a deep breath, and let it out slowly.
*
*
Waterleaf followed his father into the hut with the bird cradled in his paws. Itshe’s private hut was smaller than the family one, and contained only a bed, a firepit, and a few possessions. As they entered, Waterleaf’s brave face finally failed and he began to cry.
“What’s wrong, son?” Itshe asked, his voice soft as he knelt down. He reached up to wipe the rain and tears from Waterleaf’s cheek.
“Is. . . mother mad at me?”
“No, Waterleaf, she isn’t. You just surprised her, that’s all.”
Waterleaf sniffled and looked down at the bird. It was a common savannah bird, often found pecking at the dirt around termite mounds in search of a crunchy meal. It wasn’t moving, save for its chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. “Can. . . can you help it?” Waterleaf asked, his voice thin.
“I don’t know, little one. Let me see,” Itshe said. Waterleaf gently transferred the bird into his father’s paws. As Itshe examined it, Waterleaf peered over his shoulder and occasionally uttered a concerned whine. Itshe winced when he found the cause of the bird’s condition—two tiny punctures near its throat. The bird had been bitten by a small, venomous snake familiar to the region. “Oh, Waterleaf. . . I don’t think the bird will live.”
Waterleaf’s eyes widened and flooded with tears anew. “What? No. . . no! I want it to live! I want to help it!”
Itshe leaned forward, pressing his forehead against his son’s. “This is the will of the mother-goddess,” he said softly. Waterleaf clutched at his father with wet paws. “We can’t change it now,” Itshe continued, “but we can still make our guest feel a little better.”
“H-how?”
“I’ll show you.”
Plucking some errant straw from the roof, Itshe began weaving and shaping a small cradle. When he was done, they filled it with dried grass, fur, and cloth and set it near the firepit in the center of the hut, where the glowing embers could keep it comfortably warm. Waterleaf gingerly slid the ailing bird into the nest and sat nearby, gently petting the small animal’s feathers.
Itshe sat at his son’s side, humming a soft lullaby.
*
*
First, there was nothing.
Then, there was an awareness—the waking of a consciousness from a deep, dark dream. There was no up, no down, no ground, no sky, just endless nothing in all directions. Jo, suspended in the void, opened her tired eyes. Where was she? She tried in vain to remember the last thing that had happened to her, to remember anything that had happened to her. She bowed her head into a palm and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she was no longer alone.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
A giant leopard, black as night and with spots like starlight, was standing before her, studying her with its soulful white eyes. Jo felt exposed under its gaze, as if the leopard could see into her heart and hear the words in her mind.
“Melcuni,” Jo said, her voice swirling with emotion. Her feelings echoed through the void, manifesting into wisps of curling smoke before dissipating into nothingness. “You came. Even for someone like me.” As she said the words, she felt the weight of the old burn scars across her back. She had committed the ultimate betrayal against her people, and yet. . .
Melcuni didn’t move, didn’t speak. She stared with unblinking scrutiny, betraying no thought or emotion.
Jo drew in a breath. “I’m ready,” she said.
Once more, she was met with silence. Melcuni shook her head slowly, left then right, her shadowy form distorting as the void began to warp. Jo felt a surge of confusion, then fear. Melcuni was supposed to guide her through the gate to the next life, so why, then, was her goddess leaving her? After years of waiting, Jo couldn’t handle the idea of the doors being shut to her—of becoming a wandering soul lost to her clan forever.
“Please!” she cried out, reaching a hand towards Melcuni’s vanishing form. “Let me see my sister! Let me see my son! Please!”
Then, for the first time since she had awakened, Jo felt something tangible—the warmth of a fire, the soft touch of a blanket, a biting cold nipping at her face. She heard a voice, a familiar, timid voice. . .
“Kaja?” The name was on Jo’s lips before she remembered who it belonged to. Melcuni was nearly gone, the void falling away piece by piece, but Jo didn’t seem to notice anymore. “That’s right. . . I left Kaja all alone,” she murmured, eyes wide. “I need to. . . I need to get back to her.”
Melcuni lowered her great head and her eyes flashed with a blinding light.
*
*
Jo jolted awake and instinctively tried to stand, but a sharp pain shot through her whole body and her head instantly began to swirl and swim. Collapsing back, she took stock of her situation. It was night and she was laying on a straw mat, covered with a thick fur blanket, beside a fire. Her cestuses and armor had been stripped away, reducing her to her loincloth and a thick mass of bandages winding all the way from her pelvis to her breasts. Turning her head weakly, she recognized that she was somewhere between the walls of Forgeheart, surrounded by other cots and medics with lanterns quietly making their rounds through the grid.
Gradually, the memories of what happened in the final moments of her awareness came back to her. For a split second she was afraid of being attacked again, but the cold night air remained undisturbed by the sound of battle. The siege was over, then, and the fact that she was still alive told Jo what the ultimate outcome had been.
There was a rustle somewhere close and Jo squinted into the darkness, spotting a pair of reflective eyes. She tried to speak and was alarmed by how scratchy and sore her throat had become. Just how long had she been asleep? “Is that you, Kaja?” she rasped.
Kaja rushed to her side, dropping the material she had been gathering to feed the fire. She knelt down beside Jo’s cot. “You’re awake,” she said, as if she didn’t truly believe it and saying the words would make it more real. Her lip quivered and her blue eyes were glassy and swollen. Had she been crying? “I’ll get you water—” she said hastily.
“Come here,” Jo said, reaching out a hand and wincing from the pain it caused. The blanket shifted and Jo saw her heavily bandaged torso for the first time. It was soaked through with dark blood where the orc had sunk his greataxe during the siege.
Kaja grasped Jo’s hand in hers, then frowned when she saw the bandages. “I’ll make more,” she said resolutely, though the exhaustion was palpable in her voice. Jo wondered how long it had been since her last sleep.
“Oh, this?” Jo forced a smile. “Don’t worry about it. It barely even hurts anymore,” she lied.
“I’ll make more,” Kaja repeated firmly, her eyes downcast.
“Kaja,” Jo said, her tone serious. Kaja looked back at her. “You saved my life. Thank you.”
Kaja sucked in a breath, her somber gaze straying to that faraway place Jo had often seen it go. Several moments of silence passed before Kaja was able to speak again. “I was scared,” she whispered.
“War frightens all of us. You were very brave.”
Kaja shook her head, snow falling gently from her hood. Her hand tightened around Jo’s own. “No. I was scared you would die.” A tear broke free and slid down her cheek. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice catching in her throat as she struggled to hold back a sob.
Jo tried to smile, to put Kaja’s mind at ease. “Come on, I won’t die so easily. Especially with you watching over me.” But Kaja’s expression just fell further and the tears kept flowing.
“It’s my fault,” she whimpered. “If I didn’t stay—”
“Stop,” Jo said. “The only ones at fault are the guy who took a swing at me and me for not being careful enough.” Kaja sniffled and nodded, but didn’t seem convinced. Jo rubbed her back soothingly. “I’m sorry I worried you,” she said softly. “I’m okay now, though, so you need to sleep. Will you do that for me?”
Kaja didn’t commit either way, but she nestled down in the snow next to Jo. Soon enough, her breathing became slow and regular.
When one of the patrolling Red Paws finally arrived at Jo’s bedside, Kaja was still sleeping. “You’re awake,” he whispered. “How are you feeling?”
“Been better,” Jo said curtly. When the medic tried to press her for more detailed answers, she cut him off with her own questions. Wearily, the Red Paw recounted the siege as he had done for countless other patients before. Ironfang was dead, his forces scattered. Forgeheart lay in ruins and there were rumors about seeking sanctuary in Datharia once they were well enough to make the move. “And my companions?” Jo asked.
“Some injured, but all alive—”
Jo felt the relief spread through her like a warm draught.
“—except one.”
Instantly, her blood ran cold. “Which?” she asked. She knew it wasn’t Kaja, thank the spirits, but finding out which one of her friends was dead was a dreadful prospect all the same.
“The young legionnaire,” the medic said. “We found him while clearing out the dead. Poor man took half a dozen wounds, then was buried in bodies. I’m sorry. He was given an honorable cremation along with the other fallen soldiers.”
“I. . . see,” Jo said. “Thank you.” The medic nodded, checked Jo’s vitals and bandages, then left to see to his other patients.
Jo stared up at the stars. So Leo had died. Those final moments came back to her more clearly—how she had rushed off to find Kaja, how Leo had followed her, trying in vain to convince her to retreat with the rest of them. She vaguely remembered seeing him being struck shortly before everything went black. Guilt took hold like a leaden weight in her chest. He was so young, a newly-wed with his whole life ahead of him. He was afraid of dying, yet Melcuni saw fit to call his soul back.
But not Jo’s, even though she had begged.
Jo took a ragged breath, her nostrils filling with fire smoke and the rancid, metallic scent of old blood. Every so often, the pained groan of another patient broke through the silence. Jo was once a warrior of Culacalli, the battlefield as familiar to her as home, but she never could get used to the aftermath. She closed her eyes, laying her free arm across her forehead. She had survived another one, somehow. She had lived when so many others had died. A silent tear slipped out from under her arm and ran unchecked down her cheek.
She was a nobody without a name, a reckless exile, an oathbreaker who brought nothing but ruination upon the people in her life—
So what reason could Melcuni possibly have to spare her?
*
*
By the time the rain storm ceased, so too had the bird’s breathing. Waterleaf cried softly. Itshe held his son, letting his fur absorb the tears.
“This bird is very fortunate,” Itshe said softly.
Waterleaf looked up at him, his moist eyes filled with confusion.
“He died in peace and safety, and as he passed, someone who cared about him shed tears of love,” Itshe explained. “We should all be so lucky.” Waterleaf was a little too young to fully appreciate the words, so he sniffled, wiped his nose, then leaned in for another embrace.
After the cry, father and son brought the tiny body in its cradle out of the village and into the savannah. They stopped at a great acacia tree and laid the cradle reverently at its base.
“There,” Itshe said. “Other animals will come, and the great mother will reclaim her child.” Orrkhae honored their own dead in the same way, leaving them in a peaceful place so they could return to nature.
Waterleaf was quiet for a while, still looking down at the small body. Then a fresh sob passed through him. “I can’t. . . stop crying,” he stammered.
Itshe knelt in the wet grass. “Don’t try to stop, let the feelings go only when they are ready,” he said. “You are a sensitive young man, and that is a good thing. You might be a teacher, a caretaker, or even a healer one day. But most importantly, you will be a good person.” He wiped another tear from Waterleaf’s face and Waterleaf managed a small smile. “You stayed by the bird’s side until the end, you would not abandon it even though you knew your heart would break when it died. You showed both compassion and courage. Who wouldn’t be proud of such a son?” Itshe said. In the distance, the orange lights of dozens of cooking fires flickered to life as the village of Pasa settled down to the evening meal. “I think it’s time you left your pup-name behind.”
Waterleaf’s tearful eyes went wide. “Really? What will my true name be?”
“This night was very important. You showed me the man you might become and I want your name to preserve this story.” Itshe paused. “I think your name should be ‘Little Bird’. Any time you hear it, you will remember that you can be both brave and kind, and in fact they are often the same thing.”
Waterleaf smiled, his ears lowered, as he reflected on his father’s words. He nodded. “I like that,” he said, straightening up. He was no longer a pup, and he wanted to act the part.
Itshe thought for a moment, translating ‘Little Bird’ into the ancient orrkhae dialect from which they all took their names. He placed his paws on Waterleaf’s shoulders. “Then from now on, my son, you are Amale Inyoni.”
*
*
Slowly, like melting ice, Amale felt his worries dissolve away. There were no words, but he felt acceptance. Forgiveness. Understanding. A resolve to stay his course, to sacrifice some of his own inner peace to protect his friends and serve a worthy cause. The feeling grew, filling him with courage. He almost felt like he was flying, with cool air flowing beneath his body. Elation replaced despair, bravery replaced fear, confidence replaced doubt.
Amale opened his eyes. The sun had risen in the east. The pink and orange light gave every blade of grass and every rock a fiery sheen. A flock of crows fluttered into the air, scattering across the sky like a dissipating shadow. Among them was a hawk. It soared up, then banked, and perched on a rock in front of Amale, staring at him with keen eyes. Amale didn’t remember seeing any hawks in the steppes during their journey, and this one looked familiar, like one of the species native to his homeland of Acathia. They were both a long way from home.
For a long time, the two looked at one another in silence. Then the hawk hopped forward, its head turning sideways. A few painted beads that had been woven into the feathers of his crest rattled softly with the movement.
“Koa,” Amale said. The name came to him like an instinct or a resurfacing memory. He gently touched the talisman around his neck. Was this bird’s name the mother-goddess’ parting words, after their intimate, night-long conversation? Or did he somehow always know the name? He extended his arm and the hawk accepted it. As Amale turned back towards Forgeheart, Koa fluttered to his shoulder, bright eyes scanning the horizon.
Already, Amale felt like part of his wounded spirit had been healed.
*
*
Dimitri passed the bowl of ferix liquor to Leif, who took a hearty chug before nearly handing it off to Kaja. Chuckling at his own joke, he reached further, placing it in Sakrattars’ hands instead. Sakrattars sniffed it, then quickly passed it onto Tullius. Overjoyed at the news that Jo had awoken, the companions had been resting in higher spirits while they waited for her full recovery. Shortly after she woke up, Vyrkad presented Dimitri with a clay jug. “If you drink it, it’ll save me the trouble of carrying it all the way to Datharia,” Vyrkad had said gruffly, with a grin that betrayed his reasoning.
As the companions drank the gift, Amale lay in a corner of the tent, turned away from them and snoring peacefully. He had slept for almost a full day after coming back from the steppes and still needed frequent naps. Koa was always perched nearby, keeping a constant vigil. Amale had been cagey about the presence of the bird, saying simply, “Koa came when I needed him”. Leif privately suggested to the others that they just leave the topic alone for now.
“Well! We’ll have a damned good story to tell them back in Aurea, eh?” Leif said, wiping the drink from his mustache. “When are we leaving again?”
All eyes turned toward Dimitri, who accepted the bowl back after Tullius had taken a light sip. “It will be a while,” he said. “The ferix are packing up their entire civilization, and we can’t move until their wounded are strong enough to travel. Ours too.” He glanced at Tullius.
“Quit fussing, I’m fine,” the Captain groused. He rubbed his chin, feeling the several days’ worth of white stubble on his cheeks. He hadn’t been without a clean shave since he had joined the Legion, but he didn’t yet trust his ferix-steel arm enough to attempt using a razor.
“You are welcome to remain with us and return to Aurea as a group, of course,” Dimitri said. “Though if you’ve had enough of this place, I understand.” He smiled wryly. “I won’t be sorry to put it behind me either, if I’m being honest.”
“Thank you, but we have business in the mountains,” Sakrattars said, recalling the plan to search for other zmaj survivors. But with Jo’s injury and the early turning of the seasons, Sakrattars was concerned. He had convinced Jo of his plan back in Aurea, but would she still want to honor their agreement?
“In the mountains?” Dimitri asked, surprised. Based on Leif’s expression, the news came as just as much of a shock to him. Sakrattars really didn’t want to get into it, with Kaja and Tullius staring right at him, and the very real chance that Dimitri would have a professional objection to them taking Kaja once more out of the Ordo’s reach—even if it meant possibly bringing other zmaj into the fold.
Luckily, he was spared when the tent flap opened and a gust of chilly air interrupted the conversation. A miner greeted them curtly, then dragged in a collection of items the salvagers had found in the rubble of their apartment. Sakrattars was pleased to discover that, while his quills had snapped and ink pots broke, his journal and scroll case remained intact and his extra spell components were safe in their pouches. Leif laughed, holding up his undamaged, but sadly empty, flask. He was further cheered by the sight of his water skin. After seeing how the ferix drank from the community water basins, the prospect of filling his own skin with fresh water from the northern lake was a joyous one.
Kaja didn’t have any belongings. Everything she used was either on her person or was something Jo or someone else in the party would lend to her. She did pick out Jo’s massive pack though, and resolved to bring it to the wounded natiuhan’s bedside. Leif, warning Dimitri and Tullius to save some of the ferix drink for his return, helped Kaja carry the pack to the medical tent where Jo had been moved since waking. Then he left so they could have some privacy.
Jo was still bed-bound, but the threat to her life shrunk with each passing day. This was excellent news to Kaja and the others, but Jo herself had been uncharacteristically listless. She would spend hours staring quietly at the hide walls, revealing nothing about her inner thoughts. This behavior worried Kaja but the Red Paws didn’t seem too concerned. They told her that sometimes soldiers came back different, and that it could just be temporary. Nevertheless, it had nothing to do with her physical recovery.
“Kaja,” Jo said warmly. Her smile, though a shade of what it was before her injury, was genuine. “Are you okay?”
Kaja chewed her inner lip. “Yes,” she said. It still hurt when she walked or bent over or moved at all, really, but she didn’t see any point in saying so. “Amale let me hold Koa today. Leif wanted to too but Koa wouldn’t let him touch him.”
Jo laughed, a breathy noise, then a heavy silence passed between them.
“How are you?” Kaja ventured quietly.
“I’ll live.” It was Jo’s go-to response to that question for the past few days. Kaja didn’t like it. “I’m okay, Kaja,” Jo added, perhaps sensing Kaja’s feelings. “Don’t you worry about me.” She inhaled deep and closed her eyes. “I’ll be on my feet before you know it,” she mumbled. Kaja cast her eyes down. Then an idea came to her. She flipped up the top of Jo’s pack and began rummaging through it for the cat effigy that Jo’s sister, Cucoa, had carved.
Kaja didn’t quite understand religious devotion. She knew that Tullius and Dimitri would invoke Aegis for strength, and that Leif would swear by Orvim’s axe. She had heard Sakrattars call Snihl’ad the White a zmaj “goddess”, but that didn’t seem right. Snihl’ad wasn’t a god, she was a dragon. Their mother. And children didn’t serve and worship their mothers, did they? But even though Kaja didn’t understand it, she did know that Melcuni was dear to Jo and that she always seemed to feel better when she had the cat effigy in hand.
During her digging, Kaja’s hand brushed past a crumpled, folded letter. Not wanting to damage it any more, she took it out and smoothed its creases. She was about to set it aside and return to her searching when she glanced at the letter again. Reading Imperial common was still unnatural to her, but she easily recognized her own name standing out among the rest of the words. Curious why Jo would have a mysterious note about her, Kaja unfolded the paper. It was a letter from Linnea.
. . .One of the scouting teams discovered the ruins of a village in the central mountains. It was not on any map and the architecture was unlike anything they had seen before. They also found the remains of its people—of zmaj. They estimated they had been dead for around a year. . .
As Kaja read and understood, a pit opened up in her stomach and she felt immediately sick.
. . .The likelihood of other survivors seems slim. I don’t know their culture, but no one came back to tend to the dead or to retrieve belongings. My team buried the bodies and said a prayer for them to Aia. It was the best we could do. . .
“Kaja. . ?”
Kaja whirled around to see Jo staring at her.
“Kaja—” Jo started again, her voice strained.
“Why did you hide this?” Kaja said, cutting her off. Her head was spinning and she spoke as if in a daze. The likelihood of other survivors seems slim. The horrifying words lifted off the page and echoed in Kaja’s head, growing louder and louder. Initially, she had been scared that no one else escaped the attack on her village. But that was before she learned what her people could do. Anya told her that all zmaj carried the dragon’s spirit and so, she reasoned, if she as a child could somehow use it to fight Fallen, then surely her teacher or her dad or the Great Elder had to know how to do it too. They had to. Even if some people were lost in the battle, others had to have gotten away like she did. There was no other reality Kaja was willing to accept.
“Linnea sent it to me back in Aurea,” Jo said softly.
“And were you going to tell me?” Kaja demanded, tears burning at the folds of her eyes. The longer she thought about it, the more it didn’t seem real. Linnea had to be mistaken. The Ordo agents had to be mistaken. No matter how bad the fight, there were always survivors. She had just seen fiery death rain down upon Forgeheart, yet her companions still lived. Tordom and Barzom still lived. Hundreds of ferix still lived. The people of the Skolka were strong. The Irkallu couldn’t have destroyed them all.
Before Jo could say anything else, Kaja, still clutching the letter in a tight fist, rushed from the tent.
*
*
“Sakrattars.”
Sakrattars started at the sudden sound, then calmed his racing heart when he saw that it was only Kaja. He closed his spellbook and turned to give her his full attention. “Yes?” he asked tentatively, noticing Kaja’s tense but determined demeanor. “What do you want?”
What Kaja said next were the words Sakrattars had been hoping to hear ever since the day they met.
“I’ll take you to my village,” she said. “I’ll take you to the Skolka.”
STORY ARC 2: IRON AND ICE
—END—