Lyrua was startled out of a dream by something tugging her arm. The images swirling in her somnolent mind began to dissipate. Her mother looking down at her with a commanding stare. Cyan the Provident… She forgot them immediately.
Athen’s soft hands pulled her wrist; she could tell before her eyes were finished adjusting. He kneeled on his cot next to her, with his cloak draped over his shoulders.
He was grinning at her, but his grin waned as he relayed his message. “Mother, Fourstaile said that if I could not wake you, she would come do it herself.” His hair was tidy and combed, and his face was clean. He looked ready for an ordinary day at the Citadel. She hugged him before shooing him out of the cabin.
Sighing, she pulled herself up. They were out of ordinary days. Still, there were worse things to wake up to than her son’s cheerful smile. The expressionless agitation of Fourstaile kept waiting, for one. The woman just slept in the sun and had all the energy she needed, forgetting the rest of them needed breakfast. She hung her bag over her shoulder, and took her cloak off the table before heading to the door.
A caw sounded behind her, and she leaped out of the cabin in fright. “Ove!” she screamed, whirling around. She let her bag drop to the ground and stomped back into the room, dislodging one of the planks with the force of her indignation.
Ove was crouched in the centre of the shack, folding the blanket that Lyrua and Athen had used. The feathers on her head were sticking up. “Were you just going to leave the blanket?” Ove asked. Her arms darted, folding the blanket quickly and precisely, before it vanished into her cloak. She angled her beak towards Lyrua. “If you leave things like this behind, you’ll end up sleeping in the cold while Athen snuggles in warmth with me.”
Lyrua swung her finger at Ove. “I would take your blanket before I allowed that,” she retorted.
“And you would not deserve it!” Ove flapped her folded wings, stirring up dust from the cracks.
“Why are you in such a sour mood this morning, Ove?” She crouched to sit on the cot next to her friend. “I am the one who should be angry, with you trying to scare me out of my socks. What are you doing, hiding like that?”
Ove clenched her talons, carving gashes in the wood. Her voice lowered. “I am always hiding! I had to make sure you didn’t forget any thing. You aren’t used to caring about your things, but if you don’t care now, we will lose what little we have.” Her wings kept half flapping, like Athen pounding his thighs with his fists in a tantrum.
Lyrua rolled her eyes, but she knew it was true. She had seen the boots of the poor in the Dust Quarter. Those boots were all that kept their feet out of the dust. Those crucial boots that could not be fixed or replaced or children would go without. They had so little that scraps of leather around their feet were precious, yet here Lyrua would forget a quality comforter in the woods.
Had she listened to Sorenrov… she shook her head to deny her own thoughts. Ove was watching her. “You did not have to scare me,” Lyrua said.
“I bet you won't forget next time,” Ove said. Her talons peeled up splinters as she squeezed the wood.
“So what are you so angry about?” Lyrua asked again. She was not used to Ove carrying such genuine agitation. Most of the time, she was just playing with Lander.
“Four-staile.” The way her beaked speech cut the word almost seemed deliberate this time. It was no surprise that Fourstaile would irritate Ove so much, now that she thought about it. “She wakes up before the sun and begins pushing us about, telling us to do this and that. Four- staile gets energy from the sun, but what about us? I have mana to recover too! And Athen wants break fast!”
Lyrua nodded. “I had the same thought, but why must I be the one to suffer your frustrations?”
“Can I not vent? If I vent at Four-staile she will tie me up! At least you under-stand.” Her feathers finally began to settle, and she stopped pulling wood out of the already defeated floor.
Lyrua patted the curly down feathers on Ove’s head. “I doubt she could catch you,” she laughed. She had always been curious to touch them. They were so soft.
Fourstaile stepped into the room with her arm trying to cross against her chest with the one she was still missing. Impatience was plain on her face, and her intimidating demeanour made her seem taller than both of them. “You had better not be giving any of that attitude to the Queen, Ove, or I’ll remind you how I deal with children who are out of line.”
“Oh please, Fourstaile.” Lyrua said, standing swiftly. “Ove is my friend. If you have gone and put her in a mood then it is my business to see that she feels better.” She gave the Highward a commanding stare that was clear in its meaning. “And we are only trying to make sure we do not leave anything important behind. Ove was showing me a trick to remember.”
“Always put things right back in the bag when you’re done using it,” Ove added.
“It would do you well,” Lyrua continued, “if between all your hurrying and barking orders—which I value highly, make no mistake—you remember that I am not accustomed to these conditions. I require your patience, just as you require promptness and order.”
Fourstaile bowed slightly and glared knowingly at Ove a moment before leaving. Fourstaile could grate folk like a stone against bread when she began planning and command, as she expected everyone involved to be timely to keep the plans in order, but Lyrua suspected there was more to Ove’s mood than the wounded Highward. West Eddy was a day or two away, depending on how long the path through the Eddying Woods would take. Ove had not been there since Lyrua saved her from Osvaldus. She would need to remain mindful of anything she might do to alleviate Ove’s agitation as they travelled, but there might be no improving her mood once they reached the town.
She gave the cabin one final look around before leaving, but only the cots and the old table remained. She let the fresh air fill her lungs when she got outside, taking deep breaths so her nose could forget the smell of mould. Athen was clutching her bag, and was quick to take her hand.
“Good,” Fourstaile nodded, “if we’re all ready, then off we are.” She turned to face the woods. “Captain Spilde and his team have gone ahead of us.” She started walking immediately, waving her arm for them to follow. “Should be as safe as my gardens in those woods.”
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
“Is that with or without the stalkers?” Lander said with a grin. Lyrua noticed changes in his armour. There was less bulk around the shoulders and elbows now. His violin would be a permanent accompaniment. He had it in a case that was also steel, slung over his shoulder with a leather strap he must have got from Ove. He was sacrificing some of his power, the proliferation of which was endemic to Iron culture, to pursue his dream. Lyrua could not help but smile.
“Stalkers are fine by me,” Fourstaile said. “They are hardly threatening to us anyway. Not much worse than deer.”
“I’ve seen some big deer in these woods,” Lander chuckled. “Loud bastards too. At least stalkers are quiet.”
“Well unless Skoverdant wants to come out and step on you for making a racket, I don’t think we have much to worry about from deer.” Fourstaile’s leafy, shoulder-length vines waved in the breeze, having regained their colour and regrown where they had been torn. Small flower buds hid in the vines, but Lyrua could not tell how many. Her shoulder seemed better as well; the shredded end had healed into a smooth stump.
Lyrua yawned. She would have loved to sleep longer, despite the mould. And to begin marching so early without any breakfast! She had never started her day without a meal and a bath first. Her husband sometimes had responsibilities that required his attention before the sun crested the western wall, but not her. The shift from her routine made her feel dirty and uncomfortable, like the whole day would spin out of her control if she could not find comforts to keep it in order.
She stopped to look back. The Sydway slithered up the cliffs, rocky and patched with green shrubbery. A strong contrast to the tremendous black steel walls of the city above it, dominating the continent from its clifftop throne. From the centre of the city rose the endless Tower of Manataklos, like a road to the heavens, calling her to walk along it.
Her baby kicked.
She put a hand to her belly. One day she may return to set things right in Manataklos, if she could.
“Mother?”
She turned around. Something stronger called her the other way. A star that always shone no matter how dark, to lead her towards the right path. Soon, Athen’s brilliant smile would shine for his sister as well.
As they entered the woods a hot breeze pushed against her, making her uncomfortable in her cloak. She reached for the edge of her cloak to pull it tightly and break the wind, but Ove suddenly distracted her from it with a jar of candied nuts. She shared them with Athen as they walked. Ove must have given all her scones to the Spellwards.
Lyrua had only made the trip to West Eddy before by carriage. On foot the wide path was wondrous. Magnificent maple and oak trees twice as wide as Lander’s armour blanketed the forest floor in delicate shadows. Their colourful leaves swayed like gentle flames when the breeze came and the forest floor was speckled with pretty flowers.
For as much as she adored them, she could only remember the name of one flower she saw besides the common woundwort. The poisonous violet monkshoods were more common, and more toxic than bluenettle. Fourstaile taught her to be wary just being near them. Still, she smiled. Her tea room did not compare to flowers flourishing in nature.
Athen was even more taken with the forest than she was, twisting around her arm to look at the autumn leaves. A dry leaf crunched under his boot, and he paused. “Did I hurt that leaf?” He frowned at the broken leaf in his bootprint. “They are already dead when they fall, right?”
“You were taught well enough to know how leaves work, Athen.” Fourstaile did not turn or stop as she spoke to him.
Athen whined as Lyrua tugged him along. “I just wanted to be sure. I like the sound, so I want to stomp them all.”
“Just stay between Ove and Lander,” she smiled, releasing him.
Her son played, jumping on all the dry leaves he could. Sometimes Ove’s wing would rustle when the air was still, and a breeze would suddenly appear to brush some leaves into his path. He hummed a melody from a children’s song about jumping, that was usually sung alongside a game called Leafstamp where they tried to catch windswept leaves under their boots. Athen had never had friends his own age to play with, but Ove sometimes had. Lyrua had not even had Ove. She had only her mother telling her games would ruin her mind like salt in honey milk.
A feeling of unease came over her, as the sight of monkshood had brought, but she had not been looking at any. This time her attention had been on Athen. She peered through the woods. Fallen logs coated in moss lay on the forest floor, nourishing new life. Stones protruded from the foliage, but that was not unusual either. There was a gentle brook rolling through a large knot in some old twisted wood. A warm breeze pushed against her and she recoiled from it, turning instead to look into the woods on the other side. A man was walking parallel to them in the distance. He passed out of view behind trees and foliage, but always reemerged when she expected him to.
“Fourstaile? Is that one of the Wards?” Lyrua was prepared to point subtly with her eyes, but the Highward did not turn.
“Yes.”
“You did not… You do not even know who I speak of.” Lyrua took Athen’s hand to distract him from searching and marched up to Fourstaile.
“You’re speaking of Villars, to the west,” she stated plainly, “the only Spellward I’d expect you to be able to see from here.”
“Who is that one?” Athen asked, pointing east.
“Tonnes,” Fourstaile replied. “He’s Villars’s brother. Not as talented with spells, but he works harder.” Fourstaile looked down at Athen. “I’m surprised you could find him.”
“If there are Wards all around, then why do I feel so disturbed?” asked Lyrua, squinting into the woods to find this ‘Tonnes’ that Athen had spotted. “There is a tingle on the back of my neck that makes me think of something leering at me from the darkness.” For a moment she thought she saw Tonnes, but there was too much foliage for her to be sure. The woods were seldom still, and it made a challenge of spotting movement. Even the earth seemed to rumble faintly as if snoring. Or growling.
“Ove doesn’t sense anything, or she’d be making a racket about it by now.” Lander brushed the feathers on Ove’s head forward to make them stand.
She stared him down behind a fist full of sand that bounced off his armour as it drained from her hand. “If I sensed a threat in these woods it would die before you even knew it was there you rackety bolt.”
He pushed her hand down and continued to address Lyrua. “I bet you just weren’t expecting the Spellwards to be about, since Fourstaile said they’d gone ahead. Watch, the feeling will fade now that you know what it is.”
“And what if it does not?” she protested.
“Then I’ll kill it.” His chest plates banged together as he laughed.
“What if the Spellwards disturb Skoverdant and he steps on them?” Athen asked. He looked between Lyrua and Fourstaile.
Fourstaile met his eyes with a solemn look. “The forest is Skoverdant’s. Anyone who gets stepped on deserves it, and that includes us. It is our responsibility to respect him and his woods.”
Lander laughed again, with a hand on his chest to stifle the noise. “Don’t worry lad, old Skoverdant is so slow you’d have to be napping to be caught under his foot.”
Lyrua would love to see the great beast—from a safe distance. She never could through the narrow windows of a carriage, so this might be her best opportunity. She was told that he was so large, he was always visible from somewhere along the Sydway. If you knew where to look, you might catch him looking back.