True to his word, Alex and Ellie had run until they could run no longer. Long after his temporary enchantment on their boots had dissipated, the pair had kept apace with the group, lagging only slightly behind the Augmenters and more experienced Evokers before Ellie, too, had run out of power. Miraculously, it seemed the broader crowd had followed the instructions of the guard, as the group had near-evenly split at the crossroads and headed out into their own directions. They had stayed the path, taking the main artery road directly toward the capital, before their exhaustion caught up with them.
Whether the invaders were in pursuit was no longer relevant. Between the roughly thirty people remaining in his group, not a single one of them could bear the thought of running a yard further. They had collectively stopped around one of the Traveler’s Waystations, an interconnected system of inns and guard posts that he had only been vaguely aware of. His mother had said they were mostly safe, though, and the presence of civilization did much to assuage his fears about being violently murdered.
A few of the more energetic youths had explained the fate of Seaport to the guard contingent posted at the Waystation. Alex was gratified to see a messenger dispatched at speed. No doubt the Royal Army would be securing the surrounding area soon, and as formidable as the invading army was, he didn’t think they’d have the attention to spare on him and Ellie. They were safe, for now.
Unfortunately, that didn’t mean things were good.
“No. We’re full, you understand? No kids tonight.”
An older man who Alex guessed to be of a similar age to his mother, somewhere in his mid-forties, stood at the entrance to the Waystation like a guard posted at the gates. The cook’s apron, multitude of scars and the Gold rank plate hanging around his neck told Alex that this was the landlord, with the added unpleasantness that there was no room at the inn. He had to try, though.
“I can pay, sir. Please. My sister and I need somewhere to stay, just for a night…” he said, wincing as a few of the surrounding youths turned to look at him at the mention of money. He’d have to be more careful about advertising that fact, given he doubted many of them had convenient emergency travel packs lying around in case a well-equipped army of foreign invaders landed in town. And that’s normal, right?
Shaking his head, the landlord raised a hand. “Just stop, kid. If I let in one of ye, the rest’ll be beggin’ for a bed as well. Gods know you’ll all be beggin’ for food soon. Ye not comin’ in, though I’ll sell ye’ the food if ye got coin.”
Alex’s shoulders sagged. It wasn’t like a single night sleeping outside was the worst thing in the world - though he couldn’t emphasise how much he’d like to avoid it - but he knew his little sister retained some of her childhood fear of the dark, and the woodline was looking particularly menacing tonight. He’d heard tales of monsters that prowled the countryside, when his father and the occasional merchant was still around to tell them, but they tended to stay clear of well-garrisoned towns like Seaport. He didn’t know if that applied to Waystations, too. Something about the encroaching darkness told him it didn’t.
Returning to the spot where he’d left Ellie prone on the ground, he collapsed himself. That had been the most exhausting thing he’d ever done. It had been early afternoon when they’d started running, and it was now starting to get dark, so… five hours, maybe? If you’d have asked me yesterday, I’d have told you I couldn’t run for five hours if my life depended on it. He sighed. That would explain why his internal reservoir was running low.
The lines tended to blur a little around the affinities. He was an Imbuer, for sure, because that was the first instinctual use of quintessence he’d displayed as a child: but that didn’t mean he couldn’t draw on some of the basics of the other affinities. Sending earth attuned energy hurtling through his veins wasn’t an option, but he could cycle neutral power throughout his body to display some of the endurance an Augmenter could acquire.
As far as he knew, that was pretty much the only consistently useful application of that fact. Aside from being able to manifest a trickle of energy into the environment, or the ability to sense quintessence in close proximity, he was no more an Evoker or Ruler than Ellie was an Imbuer. His father had said there were people that broke the rules, the Godblessed, but he was less likely to meet one of those than he was to beat that entire army on his own.
His thoughts were drawn to his mother. There was no chance she managed to get out of there, to escape. Two thousand soldiers landed in their town with the intent to kill, and she was one of those unfortunate six hundred to be there waiting for them when they did. Grief welled up in his gut, sparking a few tears to fall from his eyes, but he couldn’t cry. Not here. The people around him were familiar, but that wasn’t necessarily a good thing. People behaved differently in a crisis.
Swallowing the emotion, he turned his eyes to Ellie. The poor girl was even more exhausted than he was. She’d maintained the backdraft for as long as she could, pushing well past the two-hour mark, but she just wasn’t old or experienced enough to sustain such power output. Her arm covered her face, but he picked out the tears flowing anyway. It’s okay, Ellie. It’ll be okay.
Swivelling his head, he took in the state of things around him. Most of the truly young had fallen behind fairly quickly, and those left were overwhelmingly teenagers, all from younger age groups than his own. The feeling that he owed them some kind of leadership welled up, the responsibility of age, but something kept him from standing up. It wasn’t just exhaustion.
All around, the teenage refugees of Seaport had begun falling into groups. He spotted Amelia and her brothers huddled together on the outskirts of the gathering, and part of him wanted to console her, but it wasn’t the time. It would be selfish to disturb them, and no doubt they would have plenty of time to talk when they reached the capital together. There was no place for hard feelings or romance at the moment: he needed to be strong.
Among the groups, a trend emerged. Young men with young men, and young women with young women. There was some crossover, naturally, but many seemed to be keeping to their friend groups from town. Plenty were emotional; there weren’t many dry eyes among the crowd, and some had broken out into sobbing. Others, however, had something of a darker demeanour.
Of those, a small gathering of boys close to his age shot furtive glances his way. A couple of those heard his talk of money, he realised. He knew them by sight. All around sixteen, I think. They’d been a troublemaking group in town, but it was just roughhousing back there - some fighting, a little petty crime, nothing that saw them end up in the jail - but it did make him wonder. He didn’t like those looks.
Reaching into the travel pack, Alex retrieved the dagger he’d been hastily handed by the guardsman. Metallurgy wasn’t his area, but he thought it looked serviceable. Most of the weapons in Seaport had been kept under lock and key in the guardhouse, so his weapon had probably never seen any actual fighting. If it had, it didn’t show. Tapping the top of the knife, a small bead of blood formed on his finger. Sharp, then.
He thought for a moment, then nodded to himself. There was enough in the reservoir for a little display. He pinched the blade between his fingers, careful to avoid cutting himself, and reached inside. His power had been significantly depleted by the day’s exertion, but it was manageable for him to reach in and separate a portion of fire-aspected energy. With a steady exhale, he imbued the blade, causing it to emit a steady glow of heat - the energy wouldn’t harm him, being drawn from his core reservoir, but it would certainly burn anyone else.
Shooting a glance over at the group of boys, he noticed the looks had stopped. Good. Hopefully they wouldn’t make any trouble, because he really didn’t know how to use this thing. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt any of the few survivors from his home. Don’t screw with the guy with a fire knife, kids.
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A couple of the Waystation guards looked uncomfortable, and Alex grimaced internally. It wasn’t the best look, granted. The landlord turns him down for the night, then he pulls out and imbues a dagger with fire-aspected energy? It looked like he was planning to go up and stab the man. As if he’d be so stupid. A Gold-ranker could flatten him in an instant, regardless of their affinity. He was only Iron-rank, though close to Bronze.
All that said, his concern had been addressed. Now would be the time to turn to other immediate concerns, like their sleeping arrangements. Staying too close to others was a bad idea, as his travel pack would begin to stick out as the others became lucid, but going too far didn’t feel right. Not with the woodline looming ominously over the road. Best to stick close to the Waystation, but far enough away that he’d notice anyone sneaking up on them.
“Ellie, kid.”
His sister peeked out at him from under her arm, eyes fresh with tears. New lines had appeared on her youthful face, and dried sweat stuck to her forehead in much the same way as it did his. She was responsive, though. That was good. Her eyes landed on his knife for a moment, before taking in their surroundings, and an edge of seriousness entered her gaze. Too smart for your own good.
“Don’t call me kid,” she murmured, lifting herself into a seated position.
He shot her a little grin, then dropped the expression. “We’ll be sleeping outside tonight. Come on - just over there. No doubt you need it.”
The pair clambered to their feet, lacking in grace in the way you might after running a marathon. They stumbled over to the indicated spot, a little clearing by the roadside where the woodline had been pushed back a few feet, before collapsing yet again. Ellie passed out almost immediately, but Alex resolved himself to stay up. Just a little longer, he thought, eyes vigilant. Just until the rest fall asleep too.
***
Sleep came fitfully. He was wracked with nightmares from the moment his eyes drooped just an inch too low, horrifying visions of death, destruction and black-hulled ships. The captain of the guard stood before him in one, a great-axe held over his shoulder, a scowl on his lips. Alex’s shoulders were pressed down by two faceless men, equally scornful in their demeanor, his head shoved atop a gnarled tree stump.
“You were to fight, boy,” the captain snarled, balancing the weight of the axe. “We all fought, together, to survive. You ran.” His lips peeled back to reveal a yellow-tinted smile, a wildness in his eyes. “They got me in the gut, boy. A spear straight through into the spine. I died in agony, screaming, as armored boots pounded my nose into the dirt. You ran.”
“I’m sorry.” Alex pleaded, tears running freely down his cheeks. “I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry. I wanted to fight. I wanted to save you.”
“Too late now, boy. You’ll be joining me soon.”
The captain hefted the axe, bringing it down in one smooth motion to sever Alex’s head.
With this, the nightmare changed. Now he was running, running, running with everything he had down a dark road beset by scarred trees rising to the heavens, warped branches leaning down as if to impale him upon their length. Grey foliage hosted a murder of four-eyed crows, chattering with laughter, as he ran.
Four arms grabbed at his legs from the ground, impossibly strong, and brought him down. He hit the dirt with a painful thud, hitting his chin and knocking his teeth into one another. One of the arms twisted, shattering his ankle, and he screamed in pain. Three small figures giggled, watching him through dead eyes.
Behind them, a black carriage careened across the road, drawn by a host of four horses. It was coming right for him at impossible speed, the wheels blurring in motion. Rich, smooth laughter filtered from within the vehicle. It struck him at speed, and the nightmare changed yet again.
He was in his mother’s shop, standing behind her as she tinkered at her workbench as usual. The window revealed only darkness, without the picturesque view of the town square he’d come to love. She worked in silence, crystal stele gliding on an object out of view, before pausing. He was certain she was about to ask him for more crystals.
“You ran,” she said, tilting her head. There was no accusation in her tone. There wasn’t much of anything.
“I did.” Alex said, tears threatening to overwhelm him. It was true, after all. The captain had been right. They had all fought for their lives, and he’d simply spent them like currency, using the opportunity to secure his own existence. Whether it was for Ellie or not, it didn’t matter. He had a responsibility to fight, and yet he ran.
His mother held her posture, head tilted, for an eternity. He wondered what she would say. A litany of scorn, deploring his cowardice? A note of disappointment? Would she blame him for running?
“Good.” she said, looking down at her work with the concentrated stare he had come to expect from her. “You keep Ellie safe.”
He exhaled. Of course that’s what she would say. That’s all his mother could have said. She wanted him to run; wanted him to take Ellie and survive. That was why she’d left the emergency pack, why she’d been so insistent they move quickly - she had sacrificed herself to buy them whatever extra seconds they could. The militia would never have let her leave too.
“But I wish you hadn’t.” she whispered, a note of misery in her tone. “I wish you’d stayed. I wish my children had been with me until the end, while the fire stripped my bones and the enemy trampled my corpse. I wish I could have seen you, at the end. I wish it wouldn’t have been so lonely. I wish you didn’t leave me. I’m glad you did.”
Her words were a punch to the gut, driving any remaining air from his lungs in a single moment. His vision blurred, and his stomach threatened to expel its meagre contents - because he could believe it. He knew his mother had died, today, and she would have spent her final moments wishing that they were with her. That she would have been miserable and in pain. It wouldn’t have been a quick death.
He made to approach her, but the world swam, and darkness flooded through the windows until it enveloped the room. His mother vanished into the void, and her beloved crystal stele clattered to the ground. He reached out, desperately, and wrapped both his hands around the tool - the only thing left.
“I’m sorry. Mother. I’m so sorry.” he wept, curling up into a ball on the ground. Tears poured from him, until eventually, he awoke.
***
The quarter-moon hung high in the sky, bestowing only trace amounts of silvery light unto the ground below. Alex blinked the lingering tears from his eyes, memories slamming into his mind like a thunderbolt. He lay there for an agonising moment, before sealing his eyes shut once more. I’m sorry.
Then, opening his eyes, he cast a look at the surroundings. There wasn’t much to see, not in the dead of night, but he could just about make out enough misshapen forms in the darkness to conclude everyone had fallen asleep. The lantern over the Waystation’s entryway was still lit, but the interior was dark. He’d woken up in the middle of the night.
To his left, the dagger still glowed where he’d left it, containing merely a fragment of the power imbued within. It was enough to emit a soft glow, a light source in the darkness, and it radiated enough heat to remain dangerous to the touch. A good thing, that, he thought. He hadn’t considered how much it would make them stand out once the sun set fully.
As if in response to his thought, there was a rustle in the foliage of the woodline. He froze. The thought of monsters occurred to him earlier, but it wasn’t a concern he took seriously. None of the traders in town had spoken of them as a big concern, if you stuck to the patrolled roadways and… Waystations. Fear crept into the back of his mind.
The dagger, he thought, sparing a glance for the weapon in his hand. A light source in the open, easily visible from some distance, and a glowing indicator that there was someone there - someone who wasn’t in the safe confines of a guarded Waystation, but an isolated target, easy pickings for a hungry creature.
It stalked from within the trees only a second later. With crisp white fur reflecting only a fraction of the light it should, the four-legged beast stood at an intimidating four-feet tall. Jagged teeth filled its maw, appearing as if a craftsman had taken a saw to the appendages, but chosen to cut at different heights for each. Two enormous eyes gave meaning to the term ‘green with envy’, if the creature were envious of his existence, and they were fixed to his own. The creature let out a low growl, a rumble that manifested in his chest, and within he felt fear for his life emerge anew.
A Feirwolf. Fuck.