By Llew’s estimate, they were maybe half a day, or night’s, ride from the farm, so they took their time packing up camp, knowing they couldn’t expect a warm welcome in the middle of the night. Besides, here, the cover had suited them well so far, while milling outside the farm seemed to be asking for trouble. Better to arrive in the early dawn, hopefully before sun-up. At least the heartland couple were likely early risers.
They set out a little after midnight. No one traveling at this time of night had honest intentions. Oh, Llew wanted her ma back – that was nice enough, she supposed – but she also wanted Aris stripped of his powers, or dead if need be. He had killed her babies and cut down her tree. No one, not even Braph, deserved her hatred more. Not that Braph was exempt, by any means.
As noble as Jonas’s desire to be reunited with his son was, he too felt an obligation to see Aris brought to justice. A personal vendetta or for the greater good, Llew didn’t know, and didn’t much care. They were headed in the same direction. That was enough for her, for now.
Braph wanted his home back. His home, his workshop, his inventions. To do what with? To bleed Aenuks. To make magic. To be more powerful than Jonas. To reclaim Llew’s ma.
A shudder ran through her. Llew had little doubt Braph felt something for her ma, but love wasn’t it. Obsession was closer, if not a bullseye.
She wanted to hate him so bad – especially after he’d used her, pretending she was her mother – but he’d also helped save Jonas’s life at the tree; both by providing the Gaards that helped slow Aris down – and may have been the only reason he hadn’t killed them all – and by showing them how a Karan could use Aenuk blood to heal.
She didn’t trust him, but she couldn’t bring herself to hate him.
Of the lot of them, Hisham probably had the most noble cause. All he wanted was Jonas’s forgiveness. That was all. Nothing personal. After betraying Jonas at Aris’s command, the least he could do was stand by Jonas’s side when the Syakaran brought the Immortal to justice.
Llew drew her jacket tight. Between the dark of night and the weather, she could barely see her companions, only hear the grind of hooves on gritty sand ahead, and the trundle of wheels behind.
Amico stopped short. Llew peered through the mist to see why, but there was nothing but the white mist. She was about to urge him forward when Hisham’s cart horse came up behind. Amico leapt forward, running into Braph’s horse’s rump. The horse shied but seemed reluctant to move forward. Llew was about to ask why they’d stopped when the reason materialized before her – a light wind deforming the mist enough to reveal the Turhmos rider directly in front of Jonas. The two horses must have nearly walked right into each other.
Jonas kicked Chino into action, the horse’s powerful haunches bunching and launching him and his rider forward. They crashed into the Turhmos patrol, scattering them as Jonas scattered knives. Thumps and groans accompanied the demise of several of the soldiers, but the rest soon gathered their wits and came at them. Hisham cursed behind Llew. Relegated to the cart, he didn’t have a horse to put him at the same level as the Turhmos soldiers, so he came to Llew’s side to fire into the fray. Llew called out to Braph for one of his Gaard devices, but he shrugged. “No ammo.” Whatever that meant. Llew cursed and pulled Amico back. She was useless in the middle of things. She couldn’t even see how many men they faced.
Hisham threw a knife to her, which she caught on instinct. Braph, too, took up a knife.
An arrow whistled, sailing by her head. Then, without being able to see for sure, she knew she was surrounded. The sounds of Jonas and Hisham moving through the attackers still reached her ears: grunts, screams, and thuds, but there were too many. They were surrounded.
Within moments Llew understood the Karan preference for being armed with knives; arrows flew as fast as a bow could fire them, but knife-throwing was purely down to the thrower’s speed. Men fell and stumbled around her. Some fell towards her, handles protruding from various vital organs or tendons. Hisham grinned up at her as he passed by to reclaim his knives.
Llew threw her own knife, hearing a satisfying gasp and heavy thump. She slid from Amico’s saddle and got down on hands and knees to retrieve another weapon from one of the fallen men. As she pulled it free, an arrow sunk into her shoulder. A shock of fire ran down her arm and through her chest, and she fell back. Refusing to lose the claimed weapon, she ripped the arrow free and sought some form of life in the ground cover, but they were on the open road. There was nothing to heal from.
A Turhmos soldier fell on her, a knife brandished, mouth stretched in a triumphant grin that turned to shock when Llew brought her hand around to grip his wrist.
“Aenuk?” The man managed before Llew sunk her own knife, angled upwards, under his ribs. He maintained eye-contact as blood flowed from his mouth, trying to make sense of what was happening to him. Llew squirmed, trying not to let the blood fall on her face. Its sickly warmth landed on her cheek and dribbled into her hair.
“Sorry,” Llew said. She was, but it was a matter of him or her, and she wasn’t ready to give up yet. Pushing the man aside, Llew rolled as an arrow struck him and another sunk into the dirt where she’d lain.
Braph was struggling against another man with a knife and Llew scuttled towards him to help, side-stepping as another soldier came at her. The soldier’s eyes grew wide, and he fell at her feet, a knife in his neck. She looked to Hisham, but he was already focused on his next target. She lunged at the soldier fighting Braph and stuck her knife in his back.
“Sorry.”
Braph raised an eyebrow but she didn’t have time to explain herself. Some of these men were Aenuks, her people. Not bad people, just people fighting for the side they’d been told to fight for. The fact was, she didn’t know if she was fighting for the right or wrong side. She was simply fighting for her life. She hoped that some of those she stuck her knife into might live, but with more coming on she had to make each thrust count.
Blocking out the sounds of her companions’ strikes and failures, Llew ducked more arrow-fire and flailed around with her blade until it sunk into someone else. She held the blade in place, going down to her knees with her victim to ensure he wouldn’t get up again. A hand came up to grip her throat and suddenly Llew knew the burning of an Aenuk’s touch. But even as he drained her, she drained him right back, and faster. He was barely a man. Younger than Llew. She nearly faltered in her defense. An arrow flew past her ear, causing her to catch her breath and her focus to waver for a second. Her skin burned and tingled. His look of triumph twisted through pain and shock, and she snatched his hand back. Llew pushed herself off him and he scrambled up.
“What are you?”
“Same as you,” she replied, dodging, and avoiding another arrow.
“No.” He shook his head disbelieving, took a step and an arrow in the back, and fell into Llew’s arms, his eyes full of surprise and wonder and then nothing.
“I’m so sorry.” Llew let him fall as gently as she could under the circumstances.
As she released him an arrow struck her in the neck. She stumbled, choking on blood, struggling for breath. Another arrow skimmed her shoulder, leaving a long, if shallow, cut on its way past. Another arrow sunk into her gut and she stumbled and fell, staring up into the mist. She managed a coughing breath and cleared her throat, but it soon refilled, and her body ached.
The sounds of the fight diminished. A rush of movement and shouts cut short were followed by gurgles and thuds. The road fell silent. Bliss.
As Llew’s vista darkened, the arrows were ripped from her flesh. She would have cried out had her throat not been filled with blood. Instead, she choked on blood. Her skin fizzled where warm hands grasped her. Her eyes cleared and a multitude of pains diminished and disappeared, while her head filled with the chaos of returning to reality. A reality in which they had been fighting and she had died. Again.
Her desire to breathe returned in a rush and she inhaled blood, coughed, rolled on her side, and coughed again, splattering warm red – black in the dark of early morning – over the ground and her hands. Finally able to take a clear breath, she rolled on her back and wiped her eyes clear of tears and dirt. Seeing Jonas over her, she tried to wriggle from his grasp, but he held her down, refusing to free her until the healing was complete. He was drenched, sweat and heavy fog wetting him from inside and out.
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As soon as he released her, she pushed herself up to sit and take in the scene before her. Blood coated the road immediately surrounding her. The occasional leg or foot indicated a body just out of sight, thanks to the persistent mist and dark.
Jonas leaned back from her, still kneeling, and rubbed his hands over his thighs. Llew gripped his forearms, turning them to see his palms; red and blistered. “It’s alright,” he said. “I’ll heal. You might not’ve.” He looked pale and fought to regain his breath.
“Are they all dead?” Llew asked. Jonas nodded and she punched him in the shoulder. “Don’t do that! I could’ve killed you!”
“No, you couldn’t.” Jonas gripped her wrist, preventing further outbursts. “You weren’t dead, and I got more to give than most. I’ll be fine.” He released her and slumped, puffing out a breath.
“You’re exhausted!”
He brushed her off with a lazy wave of a hand.
“How long will it take you to heal?”
Jonas shrugged, and stretched one arm and then the other over his head, grimacing. “I’ll be sore for a few days.”
“Days?” Llew glared at him, eyes wide, incredulous. “Days?! We’re in the heart of Turhmos! They know we’re here and you leave yourself weakened for days?”
“I thought we were both gonna accept we’re a bit daft about this sort of thing,” said Jonas. “I’ll be fine, Llew. I can still fight, I can still …” He reached out and lifted her head with a bent finger, rubbing a thumb over her chin. He could still make her breath catch, that’s what he was saying – actually, he was probably talking about more than mere breathing – with a carefully constructed smoldering look, barely masking his amusement.
Llew forced herself to breathe and glared at him.
“Relax.” He chucked her gently under the chin. “I’m fine. And I got Hisham as backup.”
“Fine,” she said, not fully convinced. “Hisham and Braph?” She peered around to locate the two Kara in the clearing.
There was one “Here,” then another and two pairs of heavy boots stepped close enough to be visible.
“Everyone healthy?” Jonas asked.
Llew had enough time to recognize the swoosh of an arrow slicing through the air before Jonas toppled forward, pushing her back to earth.
----------------------------------------
Llew’s head hit the ground.
Hisham scrambled, dashing into the trees, Braph following, the Kara shouting directions at each other.
Jonas pulled himself up to his hands and knees, wincing. Llew worked her elbows under her and shook her head clear. The back of her head ached, but she could see enough to follow Jonas’s glance to the short arrow jutting out of his left side. After the initial surprise, Jonas looked more annoyed than in pain, but he grimaced again as he maneuvered himself to attempt an extraction.
“Wait!” Llew grabbed his hand. “Doesn’t that make it worse?”
He paused, and they both turned to the cacophony going on behind the wall of frozen mist.
A yell, grunts, and a cut-off cry. More shuffling movement, snapping twigs, scuff of sand, and Hisham returned to the clearing, followed closely by Braph.
“Just the one, and we got him,” Hisham said triumphantly, then swore when he saw Jonas’s injury. He kneeled beside him. “This is …”
“Yep,” said Jonas.
The mist swirled where Hisham had been and then he was back, knife, bandaging, and a bottle in hand. He shoved the bottle under Jonas’s nose.
“You’ll need it,” he pressed when Jonas looked like he was going to refuse.
Jonas looked to Llew before accepting the flask, but she couldn’t condemn him for taking pain relief when it was needed, whatever her feelings on alcohol were.
“He’ll be alright, won’t he?” Llew asked.
“Sure.” Hisham got down on his knees.
An idea struck her, and she looked up to where Braph stood, shrouded in a light mist. “He can use my blood, can’t he?”
Braph nodded.
“He’s gonna have to cut it out first,” said Jonas, his voice already thick from the pain, and a long pull on the flask on an empty stomach.
Llew’s hands itched with a need to heal him, but of course she had to wait for the arrow to be extracted. Healing him with the arrow still embedded would only mean more pain when they removed it.
“Have you done this before?” She couldn’t take her eyes off the wound. It was a clean cut and gave no indication of depth. She had heard tales of arrow wounds, most not promising.
Hisham’s head lifted, preceded by one eyebrow.
“Llew. Go check on the horses.”
“But—“ She was about to quibble over Jonas’s dismissal, but he was right. She was no good to him until the arrow was out and, giving herself a moment to think on it, she really didn’t want to watch Hisham slicing into Jonas, necessary or not.
Llew stood and was about to fend her way through the blanket of fog when Jonas spoke.
“Braph, you can help—“ he began.
“No!“ She spun back to them. “He can get his needles from the cart. But I will not be alone with him in this.“ She waved a hand at the mist.
The men all looked surprised, but Jonas nodded and waved Braph back towards the cart, assuming they all still had their bearings right. It was the direction Hisham had gone to get his bandages, anyway.
Llew turned on her heels, diving into the murk, calling quietly to Amico and Chino. Chills carved up and down her spine. She knew Braph couldn’t do anything to her. He wasn’t weak, because, despite his shortened arm, he was still Karan, but he no longer had his magic and couldn’t subdue her as he had. There was no way she would willingly lay down for him and, with her Aenuk powers, forced relations were a dangerous move for any man. But the atmospheric conditions had her nerves on edge. She wasn’t about to risk him suddenly deciding he needed to pretend she was her mother again. She shivered. He was a sick, sick man, and she dearly wished Jonas could see past their family ties and recognize that.
Calling again, she heard a snort through the darkness, and it wasn’t long before she found all three saddle horses huddled together. Gathering reins, she began the less difficult task of returning to Hisham and Jonas. Jonas’s growls ensured she knew which way to go.
“How’s he doing?” she asked, in time to witness Hisham pull the arrow free.
Jonas growled around the strip of leather clamped between his teeth. That good, then.
Hisham poured a good measure of whisky over the wound, saturating Jonas’s already blood-soaked trousers, then took up a needle and thread.
“It’ll heal better if I stitch it first,” he said, folding back the cut flaps of Jonas’s trousers. The wound fair gaped. Hisham bent over it and set to work. Llew offered her hand for Jonas to squeeze while the work was completed. He hesitated in taking it, so she took up his hand and wrapped his fingers round hers but had to pull free when his grip bruised her, and she healed from him.
“Sorry,” she whispered, looking helplessly at Jonas. She could do nothing but hurt him more.
Hisham worked swiftly and soon tied off the last stitch.
Llew accepted the syringe Braph offered, and it wasn’t long before Jonas’s wound was properly sealed, and the stitches pulled free.
Llew couldn’t stop herself grinning, such a relief it was to be useful to the world at large, but especially her friends. She placed the syringe down and went to stand so she could heal off the grassy verge. Before she’d even gained her feet, Braph had snatched the syringe up and stuck the needle in the crook of his arm.
“Hey!” Llew smacked the syringe aside, having little care if the needle ripped a hole in Braph’s skin.
The syringe hit the road, the glass vial cracking on impact.
Instead of the bliss he’d shown the last time, Braph looked disappointed.
“Don’t get excited,” he sneered. “There wasn’t enough.” He glanced down at Jonas, still sitting on the road. “I envy you. What must it be like, to be Syakaran and have your power augmented by the blood of a Syaenuk? I can only wonder.”
“It’s …” Again, Jonas couldn’t look any of them in the eye while he talked about it. He jumped to his feet, brushing himself free of road dust. “It’s alright,” he finished, noncommittally. He turned his hands palm up and stretched and flexed his fingers against the burn that remained, but noticed Llew gawping and waved her concerns away before dropping them by his side.
With no more talk, Llew healed, and they were back in the saddle, Hisham in the cart, and away off down the road again, leaving bodies and riderless horses behind. There was little doubt the patrol would soon be found, and they needed to put as much distance as possible between them and the mess or, at the very least, find somewhere to hide. There was still a couple of hours’ riding to go before they reached safety, and little more than that to get there.
Jonas was silent, more interested in moving than discussing the risk of running into another patrol. Llew figured there wouldn’t be many. The nearest town was still Hinden, and it had held no signs of a regular military presence – at least that had been the case when Llew had passed through a couple of months earlier. The patrol must have come from elsewhere, possibly alerted by the flying machine, traveling day and night to find them. How the flying machine had happened to be in the area was anyone’s guess. Turhmos had no reason to suspect they traveled within its borders up until that point, unless scouts had seen them earlier and raced to inform someone, or …
Amico threw his head up as he sensed his rider tense. Braph had ridden into Hinden alone. Jonas had spoken of near instant messages. Telegrams, he’d said. She didn’t understand it at all, and wouldn’t have believed it could work if she hadn’t seen some of the little messages herself.
She narrowed her eyes at Braph’s back. Was he to blame for Turhmos now seeking them, nearly killing Llew and injuring Jonas? And yet, he’d helped them fight – not that she could see through the fog – and he hadn’t taken advantage of Jonas’s injury at all, apart from attempting to take another taste of Llew’s blood, of course …
The only conclusion she could draw was that she still couldn’t trust Braph. She hoped Jonas felt the same.