Shadows danced through the grove, weaving in and out of the trees as they closed in on Sakrattars. One of them took the shape of a man in a metal mask and rushed forward, daggers raised. Sakrattars spoke the words to a spell but the magic fizzled on his lips. Tendrils of darkness lapped at his feet, coiling around his ankles and holding him in place as the Fallen slammed into him. Metal flashed red in the light of the eclipse. He felt the dagger sink in, but there was no pain. Only deep, crushing cold. His vision blurred, the taste of iron filled his mouth—
Jerking awake with a gasp but still not understanding where he was, Sakrattars flailed his arms in a pitiful attempt at defending himself. Jo stepped back, hands raised.
“It’s just me, elf,” she said, “it’s just me.”
Sakrattars stared at her blankly, his mind a haze. It was a dream. Only a dream . . . The sun was low on the eastern horizon and everyone except for him was already up. He sighed, his eyelids getting heavy again. It seemed like no time at all had passed since he laid down on his bedroll. Linnea had insisted that they put as much ground as possible between them and Barsicum before making camp for the night. The grueling trek brought them to the foothills of the Grayspur mountains before Linnea was satisfied, much to the exhausted party’s collective relief.
“I’m sorry,” Sakrattars said, rubbing his temple. “How are you holding up?”
Jo shrugged. “I’ll manage. Amale’s poultice helps.”
He nodded. Last night, he had seen how Jo dragged her injured leg and winced when she breathed, how the linens wrapped around her waist were dark with blood by the time they were able to rest. Yet she never once complained about the brisk pace Linnea set.
“Do you want tea? Amale and Kaja are preparing it,” Jo asked.
“Yes I would.” Sakrattars yawned, opening his spellbook with one hand while absentmindedly tossing some worms to Bartholomew with the other. However, he couldn’t focus on the words. His mind kept wandering back to the encounter with the so-called Fallen and, more specifically, the implication that there were more such beings out there scouring the land for Kaja. But why? Just who were the Irkallu? He thought of Linnea. She definitely knew more than she was letting on.
Leif set down a hot cup of tea and Sakrattars plunked a biscuit in with a splash, eyes still glued on his spellbook.
“You’re welcome,” Leif said sarcastically, rolling his eyes.
Sakrattars’ gaze flicked up. “We might find Lucretia, who appears to be homicidal and unstable, at the estate today. I don’t intend to be defenseless.”
“Alright, alright. By Orvim, it was a joke.” Leif waved it off, leaving the elf to his studies. He paused to mull over Sakrattars’ words then took a seat and pulled out a sharpening stone, getting to work on the axe that he had come to call Oxhiminn. Nearby, Amale was tending a small fire, the place where the Fallen’s dagger had grazed his forearm wrapped in fresh, clean bandages. Kaja kneeled next to him, stirring tea leaves into a canteen of hot water. She held it up for him to sniff and his ears twitched in response. Nodding, Kaja added another pinch of leaves.
They were just finishing breakfast when Linnea returned to camp from her self-appointed scouting mission. She gratefully accepted some of the tea from Kaja. “The way looks clear,” she said. “We should leave as soon as possible.”
Jo, putting more force than was necessary into tying her cestus, shot Linnea a cutting glare. Sensing a confrontation, Sakrattars closed his book and watched.
“Fine,” Jo said as she flexed her hand, “but first you owe us an explanation.”
Linnea lowered her cup, her gray eyes cool and expressionless. “About what?” Everything about her, from her smooth ivory skin to her ash blonde hair, reminded Jo of stone.
“Tell us about Lucretia and the others. And the reason you were following us.”
“They were members of the Ordo but I didn’t know them personally,” Linnea replied. “Feriel joined around the same time I did. She’s a brilliant scholar and archeologist and a talented wizard on top of it. The Ordo often sent her and Bandrigan to Arvis, though I’m not familiar with the details of their mission there. Somewhere along the way they plucked Astinos and Lucretia off the streets of Orium. I remember when they made their case to the chamber, trying to convince us to allow those two scrawny urchins into the Ordo.” The corner of Linnea’s mouth shifted in what may have been a small smile at the memory. She continued, “I was on my way to investigate Lucretia when I discovered Irkallu operatives on the road. I learned that they were looking for a white-haired girl traveling with a natiuhan. When I saw you at the inn, I knew you had to be the target and made a judgment call.”
“I don’t remember you being at the inn,” Leif said, puzzled. He had drinken quite a lot that night but he liked to think he would recall seeing someone like Linnea in the crowd.
“Thank you,” Linnea said. “I take that as a compliment.”
“Something doesn’t make sense,” Sakrattars cut in. “Astinos’ mother said that he had come back to Orium to live with her a year ago and Lucretia’s episode happened months ago. How did that escape the Ordo’s notice for so long?”
“It's not unusual for agents to disappear undercover for months at a time, so we didn’t immediately realize something was wrong,” Linnea paused. “We also couldn’t afford to send an agent to investigate.”
“Until now,” Sakrattars said, a hint of suspicion coloring his words.
“Until now,” Linnea repeated firmly, her face unreadable.
“But did the Irkallu say why they are targeting Kaja?” Jo pressed, shifting the conversation away from the Ordo Draconis’ internal problems.
“Could it be linked to her being—” Leif stopped himself after a sharp glare from Jo.
“Being a zmaj?” Linnea finished. “I imagine it could be.”
Kaja perked up, a flutter of hope rising in her throat. Even Sakrattars’ eyes went wide. So there were those in the Empire who knew something of the zmaj.
“What do you know about the zmaj?” Jo asked, her jaw slack in amazement.
“Less than you, I'm sure.” Linnea shrugged nonchalantly. “Unfortunately, I don’t have much more information on our current situation than that, but I do suspect the Irkallu are involved with Astinos’ death and Lucretia’s condition. We’ve lost a lot of good agents to them—I just hope we haven’t lost Feriel and Bandrigan as well.”
“After what we saw yesterday, I would believe that the Irkallu could drive Lucretia into madness,” Leif shuddered at the memory of the masked Fallen, “but Astinos was killed by a cave fisher. We saw it. I doubt they had a hand in that?”
“Not in the cave fisher, no. But who organized for the bandits to be there? Who brought the tip of their whereabouts to places they knew Astinos would hear of it?”
“You think the Irkallu paid off the bandits and also turned them in to the authorities, all to lure Astinos to his death?” Sakrattars raised an eyebrow. “Why not just kill him outright?”
“Because if they did that, we’d have evidence.” Linnea emptied her tea and stood up. “At the very least we’d have something to go off of in order to track them down and prosecute them. As it is, we just have a chain of seemingly unrelated events where, if we try to find a connection between them, it only causes the citizenry to raise their eyebrows.”
Sakrattars’ cheeks flushed from the rebuke. If Linnea was right, then they were dealing with a very dangerous enemy—one who manipulated the world around them with the subtlety of ripples on the surface of a pool. He couldn’t tell if his remaining reservations were because he didn’t believe it or because the reality was too disturbing to accept.
“Just who are these Irkallu?” Jo muttered, slinging her pack over her shoulder. “What do they even want?”
Linnea pulled her hood up, eyes scanning the mountain pass ahead. “Our destruction,” she said.
*
*
The estate was magnificent. The home, two stories of cobblestone and hardwood, was perched at a cliff face nestled amongst the trees. As the party ascended the path to the large manicured courtyard, they noticed that the architecture was a style that elves in particular were fond of, with plants and animals carved seamlessly into the design.
“Seems like someone hasn’t been taking care of the garden,” Jo observed grimly. Linnea nodded but remained silent. Weeds crowded the decorative flower beds and the pruned shrubs were losing shape.
Sakrattars clutched his sleeve where a rogue branch snagged him, a thorn catching on the fabric. “The house is dark, too,” he said, noting that the curtains in the high-arched windows were all drawn shut.
“Perhaps they’re out,” Leif suggested hopefully. Sakrattars gave him a dubious look.
On either side of the home’s front were two stone platforms, which Sakrattars recognized as bases for sculptures like the kind his brother Fenian, an artist of some renown back in Arvisian Bay, would use. These, however, were empty. Bronze scraps that looked like they may once have been statues lay in two piles in the courtyard, too far away to simply have fallen from their pedestals. Weeds had begun to embrace the scraps.
Sakrattars approached to investigate but as he drew closer, a pain in his head grew sharper and sharper until he was rendered so dizzy he had to pause. He held his forehead in his hands, trying to regain his bearings. A terrible, oppressive feeling smothered him, squeezing the air out of his lungs. Brief, incoherent visions flashed through his mind’s eye: the spark of metal on metal, an explosion of magic, a child’s scream—
“Are you all right?” Linnea asked. Sakrattars looked at her without recognition.
“I’m fine,” he replied automatically, shaking his head. But the experience had left him rattled. Was he tired and hallucinating? Or was it something else?
“These are constructs,” Linnea said, kneeling down next to the metal wreckage, “or at least they were. Feriel built them as a hobby.”
“But what happened to them?” Sakrattars murmured, his eyes running over the twisted, melted remains.
Before Linnea could respond, Jo called everyone to the side of the home. Amale’s ears lowered and Sakrattars bit his lip.
In the garden bed were two patches of disturbed soil, side by side, around the length of a body. Displaced flowers were laid tenderly across the tops of the mounds. No one needed confirmation of what was buried there.
“We were too late,” Leif said through clenched teeth. “Damn it!”
Linnea stared at the graves, scanning them impassively. “Why would Lucretia bury them?”
Leif frowned, his blue eyes hardening. “That’s all you have to say?”
“I was prepared for this outcome. Expected it even. There will be a time to mourn but first I need to find out what happened here.”
“I don’t—!” Leif swallowed his angry retort. “Lucretia was their friend. Maybe she had a moment of clarity after what she had done. Does it matter?”
“It does.” Linnea circled around the graves, bending down to feel the soil.
“I don’t know if Lucretia was the one that buried them,” Sakrattars said quietly. Instantly, all eyes were on him.
“What makes you say that?” Linnea asked.
“I—I had a vision. When I saw the ruined constructs. In it, I heard a child scream.” He winced, expecting dismissal and derision. But Linnea merely lifted a hand to her chin, her brow furrowed in thought. “Is it possible that a child lived here?” Sakrattars continued.
“Possible, yes. Working for the Ordo is dangerous, you’re constantly surrounded by enemies. If Feriel and Bandrigan had a child, then it would be reasonable to assume that they would wish to raise them someplace they thought no one would ever find them.” Linnea glanced down at the graves, aware of the irony of her words.
“Then the child might still be alive,” Jo said, filled with newfound determination. “We should search the house.”
As everyone filed out of the garden, Kaja lingered a few moments longer. She squatted and reached out a shaking hand, her fingers lightly brushing the dirt. The locket around her neck whispered into her ear, telling her of love, devotion, and tragedy. But there was something else too. Fear. Concern. A cry for help. Jo called her name and Kaja jumped to her feet, hurrying to catch up.
When Kaja rejoined the companions, Linnea had just finished tampering with the lock on the front doors. A gentle nudge and they slowly creaked open. The foyer was deathly still, half-melted candles unlit in their sconces. Sun streamed in through a skylight, illuminating the collection of curiosities lining the walls: faded tapestries, cases of ancient Arvisian artifacts, suits of armor posed on pedestals. As the party crept forward, Sakrattars couldn’t resist marveling at the objects. Under better circumstances, he would have demanded time to examine each more closely.
Then a small crystalline prism caught his eye.
“A memory crystal,” he said, surprised.
“What’s that?” Leif asked.
“Just as it says: crystals that can store memories,” Sakrattars explained. “People often find them in ruins. Feriel probably got it on one of her expeditions to Arvis.”
Linnea picked it up, turning it around to examine the facets. “Do you know how to activate it?” She handed it to Sakrattars. “Feriel knew more than most about them. Perhaps she left us a message in it.”
“I’ve never tried,” Sakrattars faltered. He lifted it between his thumb and index finger. Reacting to his touch, the smooth surface pulsated and glowed with the faint warmth of magic. But, try as he might, the crystal would not yield anything further.
After several moments, Jo groaned. “I’m going to keep looking.”
But she stopped when Kaja reached out to Sakrattars, palm open. Figuring that it couldn’t hurt to have her look at it while he thought of another method to try, he gave it to her.
In the brief moment that both Sakrattars and Kaja were touching the crystal, it shimmered and whirred to life, swallowing the companions in a brilliant light. Their surroundings changed by the second, flashing by in rapid bursts. They were in a bustling market with people wearing strange, foreign clothes. Then they were in a war room, a detailed map of what appeared to be Taracosia spread out on the table. After that, they were on a beach, looking out at a fleet of ships. Then they were back in the foyer, but the candles were lit, the dust was cleared, and the sound of laughter colored the air.
“Daddy!” A young half-elf child ran towards the party, her black curls bouncing. She passed through them as if they were ghosts, dashing into the open arms of a man behind them. He twirled her around, the light in their smiles complementing the warmth of their rich brown skin. The man’s head was shaved and he wore the garb of a cleric of Thosis with a navy blue tabard draped over it.
“Bandrigan . . .” Linnea whispered.
“Saara, baby.” Bandrigan nuzzled his daughter’s cheek, peppering her with kisses. “Where is mommy?”
This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
“I’m here.” An elven woman appeared in the doorway to the study, leaning casually against the frame. She was dressed in a simple blouse and trousers, her dark wavy hair framing her sun-tanned face. “Tell daddy what we did today, Saara.”
Saara turned back to Bandrigan, her face beaming. “I helped mommy build a spider!”
“Did you?” Bandrigan feigned a gasp of surprise. “That’s my girl.”
Feriel ushered Bandrigan through the door, kissing his cheek as he passed by her.
Then the vision shattered and the party was back in the silent, gray foyer, all the life drained from it. Kaja let go of the crystal, lowering her face until her hood hid her expression. The magic fizzled then burned out.
“They did have a child,” Linnea murmured, the barest sliver of emotion—the first the companions had seen—reflected in her eyes.
“We need to find her,” Jo reiterated.
“Do you really think she survived the attack? That, even if she did, she’s still alive?” Sakrattars asked softly.
“We need to be sure,” Leif said. “An estate like this probably has an impressive cellar of food. A child might be able to live here alone for quite some time.”
Sakrattars pursed his lips but knew that any further argument would fall on deaf ears. Amale placed a paw on his shoulder. Sakrattars wasn’t sure if it was in solidarity, sympathy, or supposed to be persuasive and Amale didn’t offer any words to clarify his meaning. He merely withdrew his paw and gave a nod to the others.
The companions rounded the hallway and entered the study where they had seen Feriel in the memory. Shelves brimming with knowledge lined the walls, with piles of books and scrolls scattered on the floor. The wooden desk was half-buried in various objects: an open book, a puddle of wax from a candle that had burned all the way down to the base, and assorted gears and springs. There was also another memory crystal.
“Kaja, can you come here?” Sakrattars said. “Take this.” He dropped the crystal into her hand. As he expected, it flared to life, a collage of rainbow light twirling around it. Memory crystals were mysterious devices that modern scholars still struggled to fully understand, as the secrets of their use died along with the ancient societies that had crafted them. It was known that at least one thing could reliably activate one: an infusion of magic, either by way of spell or by a natural fluctuation in the flow from the ethereal realm. The spells Sakrattars knew had not been sufficient to power it, but Kaja could activate one from a touch. The amount of latent magical energy passing through her must be extraordinary.
The light expanded out from the crystal and the dust and cobwebs vanished, the darkness melted away. In the middle of the floor, sitting cross-legged on the rug, was Saara—now nine or ten years old. She sat amongst a haphazard pile of cogs and screws, hard at work on what appeared to be a metal serpent. Saara was holding it close to her goggled face, moving delicately to affix some tiny mechanism inside its belly, when Feriel’s voice rang out from beyond the shut door.
“Saara!”
“What?” Saara yelled back, still concentrating on her work.
“Saara!”
Saara sighed and put the serpent down, tearing the goggles from her face. “What?” she called back again as she left the room. As the door latched behind her with a soft click, the memory faded and the companions were standing in the abandoned study once more.
“All of these memories revolve around Saara,” Linnea murmured.
“What if they’re trying to tell us something?” Leif said. “What if they’re leading us to her?”
Jo nodded. “Where was she going at the end of the memory? Let’s see if we can follow her.”
Across the foyer from the study was the kitchen, a modest room consisting of a hearth, a simple wood table, and a row of cupboards. A string of dried herbs and braided garlic heads hung above a side door that led out to the well and garden—the garden that was now a graveyard.
Sakrattars followed the others into the kitchen and felt another wave of dizziness. Clutching his head with one hand, he leaned against the doorframe with the other.
“Are you alright?” Kaja asked softly, tugging on his sleeve in concern.
He looked down at her, his brow knit in confusion. “It’s fine. I’m fine,” he stammered. Yet each time he said it, he was less convinced that it was true. “It’s just hard to breathe in here.” The rest of the party exchanged glances.
Sakrattars, desperate for air, reached for the side door. Screams echoed in his ears, followed by the sickening crunch of a blade running through flesh. A loud buzzing drowned out the rest, pierced through by the screech of rending metal. Sakrattars retracted his hand from the door, stumbling as he backed away from it. His knees weakened and he swooned. Jo caught him before he hit the ground.
Linnea brushed a lock of hair from his eyes. “You had another vision.” It wasn’t a question. “What did you see?”
Before Sakrattars could reply, Kaja picked up a discarded memory crystal from a dusty corner of the room. The crystal instantly lit up, as if it were eager to share what it knew. It cycled through several memories—the family sharing a meal, Bandrigan singing to Saara, Saara proudly showing off a mechanical dancing doll. Then the crystal paused, whirring quietly before it began to play a new memory. The image was distorted and shrouded in darkness, as if it were being dragged from the bottom of a deep river . . .
*
*
Feriel was outside, flanked on either side by the stone pedestals topped with suits of bronze armor posed with battle axes. “Lucretia, don’t do this,” she said calmly. “We can help you. It’s going to be alright.”
Lucretia stood in the courtyard, pallid skin stretched across her bones, her blue eyes mirthless and empty, her auburn curls falling in stringy, matted chunks. Her hand trembled. Withered fingers wrapped around the hilt of a cruel blade, her knuckles searing white. The iron grip of that hand belied its wasted, atrophied appearance. Kaja’s eyes widened when she saw the sword and, despite the fact that they were only seeing a vision of the past, something deep inside of her stirred, calling her to action. Darkness bled from the blade’s edge, dripping off and dissipating into puffs of fell mist.
It was eerily similar to the Fallen they had encountered on the road to Barsicum.
“Drop the sword, Lucretia,” Feriel said.
“Why did you . . . why did you . . .” Lucretia shook her head, her voice hoarse and strained. A tear ran down her cheek. “Why did you tell It where you were?”
“Mom?” Saara cracked the door and peeked out, Bandrigan behind her. She now looked to be around Kaja’s age. “Who’s that?”
When Feriel turned to answer, Lucretia lunged, the blade drawing her forward. Feriel narrowly dodged the strike, a spell playing across her lips, magic welling in her palms.
“Feriel!” Bandrigan shouted as he pulled Saara back.
“Get Saara inside! Now!” she cried as she whirled around and blocked Lucretia’s demonic blade in an explosion of magic. The guardian constructs whirred to life on their platforms, brandishing their weapons at the hostile intruder. They moved with fluid alacrity, springing to their mistress’s defense as quickly as any mortal warrior.
With one last look at Feriel, Bandrigan grabbed Saara and dragged her inside. Saara screamed, calling for her mother, hitting Bandrigan with small fists.
“We have to help mom!” Saara pulled back with all her might. “Dad! Let me go!”
Bandrigan released her. “Saara, baby. Look at me.” He placed his hands on her shoulders before she could run away. She looked up and saw that his eyes were wet with the same frightened tears that hers were. “I need you to be strong and do as I say. Can you do that for me?” Saara sniffled and nodded. The battle outside was reaching a crescendo, the horrible sound of metal scraping against metal echoing into the foyer. Bandrigan dashed to the wall, flipping down a hidden wood panel to reveal a pattern of glowing crystals underneath. He raised his hand to them, magic flowing from his fingers and arcing across the crystals’ facets. Several trap doors opened up, metal serpents like the one Saara had been building slithered forth and large mechanical knights stepped out into the foyer, their bodies thrumming.
From outside came a ragged scream then brutal silence. Both Saara and Bandrigan gasped, turning back the way they came in grief and terror. Lucretia was in their home now, her shoulders hunched, her blade shaking.
“You . . .” she growled, speaking with two voices, one her own and one booming and ancient. “You dare defy Norsivex . . . now your souls will be his playthings . . .” Her eyes flashed with pale yellow bale-light, her face twisted in a mask of grief and hate.
As the constructs converged on Lucretia, Bandrigan ran Saara into the kitchen and ushered her into one of the cupboards.
“Dad! What about you?” Saara cried as Bandrigan shut the door and left her in darkness. He started to pray as he traced a sigil onto the wood. Saara pounded on the other side but Bandrigan continued his prayer, choked with emotion, tears streaming freely down his face. Lucretia turned, having finally defeated the last of the constructs. They lay about her feet, magic spilling from their innards, displaced gears grinding together and sending out occasional sparks. Seeing what Badrigan was doing, Lucretia charged. She raised the blade and plunged it down into his back. He inhaled sharply, his prayer cut short.
Lucretia raged and screamed, attacking him again. Bandrigan felt each deep cut into his flesh, but not once did he turn from his protective spell. Every mote of his magic was devoted to his incantation, regardless of the blows and the agony he endured. Bandrigan sputtered, whispering the final words of the prayer with his last breath. He slumped over, crashing to the ground. The sigil glowed bright blue and Lucretia, realizing she was too late, hacked at the cupboard only to be repelled in a shower of ethereal sparks. Saara was under the divine protection of the Arda and out of her reach.
As Lucretia staggered back, a damaged mechanical knight brought its axe down on her. Polluted blood oozed from the wound as she recoiled from the blow, swinging her sword through the metal with a sizzle, disabling the construct. Falling to her knees beside Bandrigan’s still form, she panted and wheezed, then, as if every move pained her, she turned her head towards her friend’s body. A glimmer of recognition alighted in her eyes. Grief-stricken and horrified, she stumbled towards the door, then stopped to brace herself against the frame with her uncursed arm, her head hanging low. She turned back, presumably to take one last look at Bandrigan.
Then Lucretia was gone.
The memory began to crumble, the scene flickering as the crystal fizzled out.
The threat gone, the glowing sigil of protection faded to nothingness. Saara cracked open the cupboard door. She sniffled and whimpered, terror and grief still gripping her.
“Dad..?”
Then the crystal died, plunging the companions back into the muted kitchen. Where before they saw an empty, abandoned home, they now saw that it was alive with the ghosts of the past. A pantry door splintered and deformed, a long, dark stain on the wood floor below the cabinets leading to the garden. Someone had tried in vain to clean it but it was an indelible part of the home now—a permanent mark paired with the disturbing imprint the events had left on the ethereal fabric. Like a lapping wave obscuring a trail of footprints through the sand, the memories had overwritten any that were previously stored on the crystals. They were doomed to relive the events of that day, as scarred by what happened as the home and any living thing within it.
Sakrattars was sensitive to that energy as well, but he was no longer alone. Everyone felt as if they were suffocating, as if the walls were closing in on them, crushing their chests beneath the weight of what they had bore witness to.
Linnea took a measured breath, yet the words still came out strained.
“Lucretia has . . . fallen.”
*
*
The companions stepped back into the foyer, not yet willing or able to discuss what they had seen. They had come to the estate on a mission for answers and help, but Feriel and Bandrigan were dead, their young daughter Saara was missing, and they were no closer to finding the monster that Lucretia had become than they were the day before in Barsicum.
An odd clicking noise disrupted them from their thoughts as the hidden wooden panels they had seen in the memory flew open. Before they had time to react, constructed serpents were winding down the walls and large metal spiders scuttled forward from holes in the baseboards. Many showed recent welds and repairs, but moved swiftly to the home’s defense as strong as they would have whole and undamaged.
“Look out!” Jo cried, pushing Kaja out of harm’s way and stomping one of the metal spiders flat with her boot. Amale backed up steadily, unleashing arrow after arrow at the approaching constructs, to no effect. Sakrattars managed to hit a serpent with a splash of magical acid, and it thrashed horribly as the acid burned through its metal casing, before laying still.
Amidst the confusion, Kaja saw a shadow duck behind the railing of the second floor, then dash past the top of the stairwell and out of sight.
“The snakes have fangs,” Linnea warned, swiftly flipping the one Sakrattars had disabled over with the tip of her dagger, and tossing it away.
Leif brought Oxhiminn down on another, severing its mechanical head. A bizarre, off-color liquid dribbled from reservoirs behind its jaws. Poison. “We need to get out of here—the home is still protecting itself!”
One of the spiders raised up on its hind legs, lifting its forelegs menacingly. It uttered a sharp hiss, spitting a gout of burning liquid from its mandibles. Amale whirled out of the way, the flames splashing against the wall behind him. A magnificent tapestry lit up and turned into a column of fire within moments. Dark gray smoke filled the foyer as the flames spread, choking the party and stinging their eyes. But still the constructs kept coming, their metal bodies unaffected.
“To the door!” Leif rasped.
By the time everyone stumbled outside, the fire had spread to the study and set the books alight like kindling. Flames punched out the windows, licking up the sides of the home, turning the beautiful elven carvings to ash. And that’s when they noticed they were missing someone.
“Where’s Kaja?” Jo said in a panic. “Sakrattars, where’s Kaja?”
Sakrattars, doubled over coughing, lifted his head, his eyes wet with tears. “I don’t know,” he wheezed.
Jo stared at the burning estate, her heart pounding. “She’s still in there?” She gasped, stepping forward. Immediately, Leif was pulling on one arm and Amale and Sakrattars were on the other.
“It’s too dangerous, Jo!” Sakrattars cried.
“She needs me!” Jo strained against the weight of her companions, dragging them across the garden. But the pain of her rib and leg injuries became too much for her to bear and she slumped. “Let go! I won’t lose her!” Jo braced herself and yanked her arm forward, sending Amale and Sakrattars flying. She was about to treat Leif to the same when a figure emerged from the cloud of smoke billowing out of the open doors. It was Kaja.
And she wasn’t alone.
*
*
“To the door!”
Kaja heard Leif’s command earlier, but instead of following her friends, she turned to the top of the stairs. She knew she had seen someone. Wood crackled and popped, spewing embers into the air. The smoke was hot; it stung her eyes and seared her lungs. A trail of fire twisted towards the stairs, devouring the runner in its path. Fear paralyzed her limbs and seized her heart as she stared wide-eyed at the rapidly burning room, fully digesting her situation. She should leave, turn around and flee before it consumed her too. She should save herself.
Last time, she chose to run from the fire and bore that guilt and regret every day since.
This time, she would face it.
Willing her body to move, Kaja held her cloak to her mouth and dashed to the stairs. She didn’t know what she could do, perhaps there was nothing, but she had to try. She couldn’t live with herself if she didn’t. She could hardly live with herself already.
There were several rooms branching off from the landing and no way for Kaja to tell which of them the person had retreated into. Kaja tried to call out but the moment she took a breath, she gagged and choked. She didn’t have a choice; she would have to check the rooms one by one. The fire had started to spread up the walls. There wouldn’t be much time.
Kaja had already cleared two rooms when she heard coughing and followed the sound into a bed chamber. Her eyes quickly scanned the room: a large bed, two nightstands piled with books, a pair of eyeglasses on one. She was about to leave when she spotted movement underneath the bed. She kneeled down and came face to face with Saara.
Saara recoiled in fear, crawling deeper under the bed, coughing as she did so. Her dark brown eyes were brimming with tears, both from the smoke and from her swirling emotions.
“I won’t hurt you,” Kaja said, reaching out. “We need to go, now.”
The girls locked eyes and something clicked between them. Perhaps it was the mutual recognition of someone who had suffered a great loss, or perhaps it was the natural bond shared between those fighting for their lives. Or maybe it was a bit of both that compelled Saara to place her trembling hand in Kaja’s and allow herself to be pulled from her hiding place.
Kaja wasted no time. She tugged on Saara’s arm, leading her back to the stairwell. But the fire had beaten them and the stairs were now a raging inferno.
“Another way down?”
Saara shook her head, coughing. Out of ideas and out of time, Kaja dropped the cloak from her face and inhaled as deep as she could. Her head began to spin and the floor felt like it was tilting at weird angles. She exhaled a stream of frosty breath, the flames in their path freezing over in a hissing cloud of steam. Saara watched in awe as a thick layer of ice encased the burning stairs. Then Kaja fell to her knees.
“Go,” she gasped, unwrapping her fingers from Saara’s. But Saara tightened her grip.
“Not without you,” she said. Clinging to each other for support, the girls slid down the icy stairs and stumbled for the open doors together. Kaja frosted over the flames that blocked their way, but each time she used her magic, Saara could feel her weakening.
Within seconds that felt like an eternity, the girls staggered out of the doors. They could see the companions now, Sakrattars and Amale were picking themselves up off the ground while Leif was holding onto Jo’s arm, Linnea standing close by. Their eyes went wide when they saw Kaja and Saara emerging from the smoke, leaning against one another.
“Kaja!” Jo cried. She broke her arm free from Leif’s grip, something that didn’t take much effort as both of them were running towards the girls.
Kaja’s vision blurred, her footing faltered. Saara was lagging but still Kaja pulled her forward, one agonizing step at a time. Were they far enough away from the fire?
“Kaja! Are you alright?” A familiar voice called out to her, one that was deep and safe, that brought to mind the gravelly chuffing of a protective mother cat. Kaja’s strength failed, then Saara’s, and they collapsed in the courtyard. Jo lifted both of them to her shoulder at once like a pair of logs. She and the party sprinted away from the burning house, just as the roof collapsed and the whole courtyard was bathed in a roaring fireball.
Once they were a safe distance away, Jo knelt and placed the girls gently on the cold earth. The rest of the companions surrounded them, Amale immediately checking their vitals and scanning for injuries.
Though the girls were unconscious, their fingers were still entwined in a desperate embrace.
*
*
Jo sat at the mouth of the cave, watching the moon’s silver light sparkle across the expanse of foothills below. Behind her was a chorus of snoring and steady breathing. A high-pitched cough caused her heart to skip in worry—the girls had inhaled so much smoke, they were lucky to be alive. By the time Kaja and Saara had recovered enough to travel, the sun had already set and there was discussion on where they should spend the night. Amale found a shallow cave tucked into the side of the mountain. Even though they were well-hidden, they planned to take turns as watch and Jo’s shift was drawing to an end.
Just as she was about to rouse Leif, she noticed that Kaja and Saara’s bedrolls were empty and that the pair were huddled together in a dark corner of the cave. She opened her mouth to tell them to go back to sleep but quickly swallowed back her words.
Saara was whimpering, her shoulders wracked with silent sobs. She wiped her face with the balls of her palms and sniffled. Kaja sat next to her in silence, their arms touching. After a moment, she reached out and pulled Saara into a hug.
The girls had both lost so much, had their childhoods cruelly ripped away from them and were forced to live in fear of an enemy lurking just beyond the shadows. Jo clenched her fist. She still didn’t know who the Irkallu were or what they wanted, but at this point she didn’t care. The only thing she needed to know about them was what she was seeing right in front of her.
And she was going to make them wish that they had never crossed her path.