The world changed in the span of ten breaths.

One

With a callousness borne of a life in the harsh wilds, the child retrieved her knife from Edgar’s stomach, letting him fall back to stain the snow.

Anton’s instinct had been right as she slipped herself deftly from the bear trap where she had been staged and let out a scream that made Meira’s heart freeze in clarity.

Two

Vadek men began dropping from their perches in the trees, returning the cry of their bait, who had scurried away to safety beyond the clearing.

Anton gave the order and his unit began firing their rifles upon the broad men with axes, swords and bludgeons.

Meira unfroze and careened to Edgar’s side, trying to staunch the bleeding as much as possible. The small fighter had struck true, appearing to have nicked an artery that was quickly soaking through all the gauze that Meira had.

Three

The cacophony of battle echoed in the small clearing, and the metallic scent of blood quickly filled the air to match the screams from both sides.

Vlad, who had been behind Meira, shot deftly, hitting three Vadek warriors in quick succession. He let out his own yell of rage and continued to fire, running past Meira and further into the fray.

Edgar’s eyes rolled back and in a desperate bid, Meira pulled her scarf from around her neck to add to the pile of blood-soaked bandages across his stomach. The Juri’a necklace tangled in the scarf as she pulled, and she yelled in frustration until it was freed.

Four

Grigor, who had been firing from his spot somewhere to Meira’s right, gave a curse as his rifle jammed. Two Vadek advanced and Grigor dropped his weapon, using his considerable size and large knife to begin fighting them off.

Meira’s head snapped to the left when she heard a yell and watched Anton using his gun to fend off a Vadek wielding a large falchion with intensity. The commander was trying to defend Ioan, who was frozen against a tree behind him. Her eyes locked with petrified blue after Anton fell, throat slit by another Vadek who now turned to Ioan.

Five

Edgar’s body stiffened and jerked, and Meira pressed harder on the wound, unable to give up on him. A strangled scream constricted her heart as she watched Vlad fall, finally overtaken by three Vadek.

Her eyes searched for Grigor and she found him by Ioan, helping the young man against the two Vadek who had felled their commander.

Six

Sharp, crunching steps brought a severe-looking Vadek to the tree where Meira and Edgar lay. A bear’s head sat on his broad shoulder, the brown fur making up the cloak surrounding his large body. The man’s club was as thick as his large forearms and was already coated in red.

Seven

Meira began to scramble backwards as he advanced, his gaze never leaving her frantic movements. She turned to run. Meira landed face down, tripping over the gun she had discarded in her rush to get to Edgar. The man loomed above her. She flipped herself over and saw the man’s smug fury shift to fear.

Eight

“Vuska,” the man said, his bludgeon drawing a line to her chest. She looked down at the Juri’a necklace tangled across her chest. Her head snapped up as the man continued yelling in Vadek, his club raised.

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Nine

Agony exploded as the club connected with Meira’s raised forearm. The scream wrenched from her throat unhindered and her gaze became hazy.

She pulled the shattered arm to her chest protectively, looking up to see the Vadek holding the club above his head once again.

Ten

Meira put her remaining arm over her head, tensing for the blow. The buzz of fear and something else filled her.

And then there was a boom.

***

Meira lowered her arms from her face in the silence that now stretched across the clearing. She stared at the limp Vadek twisted inhumanly at the base of the evergreen in front of her. His honey eyes were fixed behind him, wide and empty, and his mouth slack in his last frozen scream. The tree now held a large cleft void of branches where it appeared the Vadek had been thrown with a great force.

“Vuska!” the half-whispered curse of a remaining Vadek soldier brought Meira’s head around from the grisly scene in front of her. The man said the word again, pointing in her direction and yelling to his comrades. The four other surviving Vadek warriors converged on their friend and slipped into the trees, uneasy eyes never leaving Meira’s prone form. Vuska. Vuska. Meira had heard the Vadek word before her attackers, but couldn’t place what it meant.

Witch

The word’s translation came suddenly. The Vadek called the Juri’a witches for their wielding powers. Panic gripped Meira momentarily as she looked around, but observed no else. The carnage had painted the snow, the fur-covered bodies of the Vadek mixing with the uniforms of her friends. Meira glanced at the tangled body of her assailant. Vuska. The Vadeks had clearly seen something, even as the clearing now remained still.

A weak cough punctuated the air and Meira rolled to her feet, hissing as the movement shifted the shattered bones in her arm.

“Oh my saints, Ioan!” she exclaimed after finding Ioan struggling under the weight of a lifeless Vadek. Grigor lay nearby, an arrow through his heart. Blood burbled from Ioan’s mouth and the gaping wound in his torso. The rasping breaths told Meira he had likely punctured his lung or diaphragm and she pushed down on the terror clawing at her throat.

“You’re going to be fine,” she promised, using her good hand to pull the fur from the body next to them and stuff it under Ioan’s head. He let out what passed for a laugh, but his eyes grew wide as he struggled for air.

Blood oozed past Miera’s fingers as she applied pressure to the wound, layers of cloth taken from his uniform doing nothing against the tidal wave of red seeping across his abdomen. Her pants were already wet with it as she kneeled against him, using her body weight to push down harder with her single arm. Ioan raised a shaking hand, and she looked up from his wound. His waxen face showed his fear plainly, and her eyes burned with tears. The tug on her neck brought her focus down and she saw Ioan’s fingers lightly grazing the Juri’a necklace.

“I knew—” his whisper paused for a labored breath, wet with blood, “it would be bad luck.”

Dread lodged in Meira’s throat and fell across her cheeks, droplets landing on her blood-stained hand.

She tried to reassure him, “Ioan...”

The medic stopped when she heard the snap of a branch and she tensed for the approach of another adversary.

Instead of the heavy furs and weapons of the Vadek, Meira caught sight of a slight woman and three others, all in gray tunics and pants, approaching cautiously. Though they appeared unarmed, Meira’s fear spiked as the red-headed woman came closer.

“Ki’ risa ma dun?” she asked, opening her hands placatingly. Meira saw the faint tattoos on her palms. A Juri’a.

“I don’t understand. What do you want?” Meira was desperate, and she looked back to see Ioan had closed his eyes, breathing shallow.

The woman looked back at her companions and spoke to them in Juri’a. They were tense and unsmiling, but seemed to defer to her, whomever she was. She turned back to Meira and walked closer.

Adrenaline flowing, Meira turned, seeing a knife by Ioan. She could defend them both. Meira reached for the knife and fresh blood flowed quickly under the lack of pressure. She clamped down on the wound again and Ioan groaned without opening his eyes. There was no way that she could save Ioan and protect them. She eyed the woman ferally.

“I will help.” The woman’s Khaantul was slow and rough, but her meaning was clear and Meira’s breaths came rapidly at the thought that this stranger could do something. Meira nodded at the woman and moved over so that she could join her at Ioan’s side.

Her rusty hair stood out against the gray of her tunic in tousled curtain across her back while she leaned over the injured man. She hovered one hand above his face and the other over his wound, where Meira’s hand still lay. As if playing a delicate instrument, the woman’s fingers began to move ever so slightly. Meira felt a hum of energy from her place at Ioan’s side. It bloomed in her stomach and increased as she watched the woman’s wrists twist and move in the air above her friend. Dots of sweat appeared on the brow of the Juri’a woman.

The Juri’a behind them shifted, and Meira’s gaze drew to the group. They were similarly outfitted in clothing that seemed too light for the cool mountains. Meira’s fear welled as she observed the intricate tattoos disappearing under the tunics spotted with blood. Her scrutiny ended when the Juri’a woman pulled her hands back and stood, brushing her knees gently.

“What happened?” Meira asked frantically, looking between the woman and Ioan’s peaceful face. The woman looked away, appearing to search for the right word.

“Dead.”

Meira launched at the woman, disregarding her broken arm.

“Murderer!” she accused, “you savage! You killed him!”

The woman had side-stepped Meira’s desperate movements and the other Juri’a had come closer, defensive postures clear. Meira tried to swing her good arm at the red-head again, not completely surprised when her fist was caught by the unsmiling brunet a head taller than her.

She was caught off-guard, however, by the crackle of energy coming from the hand placed on her shoulder. Meira tried to turn to see what was happening, but everything became black.