The Arcana: Shadow Wars, Codex I

Part I

Lightning & Ashes

Chapter I

A Scatter of Blackbirds

In which old friends reunite, and a tragic tale is told

Bessa was caught. The frantic fluttering of many wings told her so, and she knew without looking that someone had disturbed the field of blackbirds serving as her moat. Still, silent, she waited patiently behind the boulder she used to conceal herself from casual view.

At first light she had chosen her hiding place with care, when only the morning star, Sorcha, glimmered in the sky. The sun still had yet to come. So, the unwelcome guest on the other side of the reed sweet-grass would not see her unless she stood up.

A task list as long as her legs awaited her once the sparrows joined in with their birdsong and awakened everyone else in the household; she had until then to squeeze in some writing time.

The glowlight she relied upon to write before sunrise still shone brightly; however, prompting Bessa to snatch it from its power scepter, the little platform that activated it. Light slowly faded from the small orb, while the platform remained a dull gold. Beside her on the blanket her manuscript lay open, along with ink pots she had so optimistically prepared.

“Bessa! Bessa!”

Pippa’s voice, sweet and cheery as always. From her vantage point, Bessa saw Pippa running and skipping at once down the bluff, the blackbirds twining around her as they took flight. In but a moment she sank from view. Only the top of her head was visible as she reached the tall grasses separating the riverbank from the ridge where the last block of grapevines grew.

With a sigh, Bessa considered her options. If Pippa sought her out for her own purposes, Bessa would simply send her away. The girl was not a pest, after all. But if their elders sent her ... well there was little point in trying to hide: Her cousin was a born huntress. None could flee that she could not track, and the village children thought her a terror at seek-and-catch.

The grasses rustled as Pippa pushed them apart, and her footfalls ceased. Silence. Probably Pippa had stopped to look around on the riverbank.

The crunch of Pippa’s tall boots on the sand warned of her approach. When Pippa finally appeared beside her, Bessa sighed.

“Well?” Bessa set down her glowlight and reed pen, then rose to face her.

Standing, she towered over Pippa, whose head came up to her chin. An observation which jolted her. Seemingly a moment ago, Pippa’s embrace reached no higher than Bessa’s waist when she hugged her. Now the twelve-year-old threatened to take her eighteen-year-old cousin inch for inch.

Pippa looked up at her with amber eyes that matched Bessa’s own. But unlike Bessa’s, hers glittered with excitement. She started to say something, but cut herself off when she caught sight of the manuscript on the blanket.

“What happened next, Bessa?” Maneuvering around her, Pippa dove for the blanket, just barely disturbing the open ink pot. She snatched up the topmost page, her eyes hungrily roving over the freshly written words.

Quick, that girl. She grabbed the pages from her cousin’s hands. “Not now. Perhaps if I had a little more time.”

Pippa’s pout came and went in an instant. “I would’ve left you alone, honest, but you need to see this,” she said, pulling a folded square of parchment from her belt.

Sealed with wax, the envelope bore Bessa’s name in an elegant, spidery script. After careful scrutiny, she concluded she recognized neither the seal nor the handwriting. The blue wax seal featured a strange—bird?—stamped within. The bird sported an upright, fanned out tail.

Did this come from Anshan? The nations of that far-off empire boasted of exotic animals and fabulous goods. Or so the legends and travelogues claimed. When she brought the paper to her nose Bessa detected a whiff of a woodsy citrus scent, foreign to the meadows and fens she knew. Vetiver, she would learn in time, and the bird a peacock, but the knowledge lay ahead of her as yet.

“Well? Are you going to stand there, or open it?” Pippa came to her and peered down at the letter.

To Elisabet Bessa Philomelos, at the vineyard by the ford of ash trees in Falcon’s Hollow.

No one from Anshan had cause to know of Falcon’s Hollow or of her family’s vineyard. Yet the fantastical bird used in the stamp had never graced the wilds of Falcon’s Hollow; who here would know of it?

Bessa attempted to insert a finger into a loose flap, then hesitated. Without blinking an eye, Pippa whipped out her knife from her boot and handed it to Bessa.

“You’ll fit right in with the other huntsmen and huntresses,” Bessa noted, as the fine, keen blade made short work of the seal. “Of all the sorcerers, I bet they have the most fun.”

The reminder that she must leave Falcon’s Hollow, and her horses and hawking, brought a scowl to Pippa’s face. Although the Huntress was her favorite in the pantheon, Pippa loudly protested the idea of being cooped up in the Rhabdomachaeum. But she was blessed, and exhibited an affinity for the Huntress, obliging her to attend the imperial school of sorcery … and likely join the legions when she graduated.

The parchment fell open, and they eagerly read aloud.

Dearest Bessa,

Greetings, my old friend. I trust this letter finds you well. It seems ages ago that we played together, chasing each other through your vineyard and adventuring in the fens. I am sorry for what you must have thought of my silence, all of these years. But so much has happened, more than I can say in this letter. If your gates are open when I pass by this evening, then I will know we are still friends.

With love,

Edana

Bessa’s hands shook in her excitement. Laughter bubbled out, and it took her a few moments to speak coherently.

“Edana!”

Startled, Pippa staggered back, and watched as Bessa twirled and danced with wild abandon. The twirling made Bessa’s head spin, prompting her to stop and wait until the world righted itself before attempting to read the letter again. Excitement overwhelmed her so much she couldn’t concentrate. She thrust the letter at Pippa.

“Read it to me again.” Bessa sat back on her blanket and clasped her knees.

Pippa tilted her head and narrowed her eyes, but indulged her. When she finished reading she asked, “Edana?”

“Don’t you remember her? Oh, she left when we were twelve. When she and I were twelve, I mean; you were only little. She was my best friend, my foster sister. Uncle Min’da, that’s her father, is a silversmith, and Aunt Sorcha is a goldsmith. All the fashionable people in town made a point of having Uncle Min’da’s tableware, or Aunt Sorcha’s jewels. Their pieces are exquisite.”

The foster sisters had spent every day of their lives together. The only exceptions being the Great Winter Plague in their early childhood, and any bouts of mundane illnesses.

However, Edana’s father wasn’t from Silura. For the empire of Rasena Valentis, Silura marked the westernmost territory. But Min’da hailed from the empire’s far eastern reaches. So when he decided to return home, it was the end of Bessa and Edana’s lives together.

“We cried and begged for Edana to stay here,” Bessa said. “But it was all in vain. They left with a huge caravan, and that was the last I saw of her. Six years ago…” She trailed off, wistful as she remembered that last day.

Keeping pace with the caravan, Bessa had walked every step alongside Edana, until they came to the town’s southern gate. There she was forced to stop, not knowing the land beyond. The gate marked the limits of their world in those days. Edana stood still at that moment, not moving until her mother gently prodded her.

Edana turned away from Bessa then, a moment too late to hide her tears. But her shoulders shook, betraying her as she buried her face in her mother’s bosom. When the group moved forward Bessa stood alone, nearly too blinded by her own tears to see Edana turn back at the last moment and blow her a kiss. Bessa returned the kiss, heartbroken.

“So she’s come back. She came back to you, Bessa,” Pippa said, snapping her from her reverie. She knelt beside Bessa. “They couldn’t take her away forever.”

From the tone in her voice, Bessa suspected Pippa was thinking of herself, and her impending journey.

Bessa reached out and smoothed Pippa’s hair. A bright persimmon like her own, but kept in a messy braid. As she herself had done when Pippa’s age, Pippa had woven cornflowers and blue gentians in a garland about her brow.

“You will benefit from exploring the world beyond Falcon’s Hollow,” Bessa soothed. “Do you know how much I envy you? Once your time is done in the Rhabdo, you can come back here. Or you might have adventures in the legion if they take you. Think of the places you’ll go, the experiences you’ll have.”

Pippa looked down, blinking furiously as Bessa did whenever she, too, tried to hold her tears at bay. Though she tried, Bessa couldn’t muster sympathy. For a girl her age, Pippa had the third and most exciting of options: usually, the age of twelve brought along either an apprenticeship or betrothal. But for the blessed, there was the Rhabdomachaeum. More—from Bessa’s point of view—the school was in the nation of Sirônasse, farther than they’d ever been.

If only she could escort Pippa to the academy. But as the only child of the eldest son, Bessa was their grandmother’s second in command. Overseeing the vineyard and the tenant vinedressers was Bessa’s duty, and Pippa was to leave during their busiest time of year. A small sigh, and the notion died within her.

Without mercy, Pippa wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “What are you going to do about Edana?” No tremor in her voice.

Bessa smiled proudly. Pippa was a Philomelos; it was not in her to dwell overlong on self-pity.

Bessa surveyed the dining room with a satisfied smile. Her staff had spent the whole of the day preparing the feast: quail roasted with lavender and honey, baked egg and cheese dishes—one savory with sea bream, the other sweet with gooseberry and elderflower—almond cakes, and everything else Edana loved when they were children. Would she still have enjoyed the pleasure of such treats once she went east, beyond the heart of the empire? What sort of food did they have over there?

Now she hurried to the great hall, stopping once in the courtyard to check her portable sundial again.

Edana would arrive soon.

In the hall Bessa paced, her footsteps echoing every time her slippers left the rug and struck the stone mosaic of vines on her floor. At one end she stopped at a large porphyry vase filled with pale sunny oxlip and indigo bluebells. At the other end she came to her family’s altar to the Reaper, set into a marble niche in the wall.

Twirling a finger around a curl of hair, Bessa fussed over her gown with her free hand. In honor of the occasion, Bessa wore her finest, a chiton in cornflower blue silk. Its hem flounced at her feet. Tiny white flowers embroidering the hem matched the embroidered belt tied below her bustline. The hem in turn matched the blossoms she spaced at intervals in the braid she had plaited as a headband. Aquamarine beads hung from her ears.

Bessa clutched her most precious possession, a two-sided medallion which hung from a fine gold chain around her neck. The first side displayed a gold-glass portrait. Etched in gold leaf against a deep blue field, the portrait vividly memorialized Edana and Bessa as they were at age twelve. And at that age, they frequently bent their heads together, the better to exchange their secrets. Their names floated in ribbons above their heads. On the reverse side, a lovingly crafted gold filigree featured a pearl stud in the center.

The necklace was a quintessential example of Sorcha Nuriel’s artistry; she’d made an identical pendant for Edana. These were her gifts to her daughter and to Bessa on the day they parted.

At last the double doors opened, and the gatekeeper stepped inside.

“Optima Nuriel,” he greeted, and with a sweep of his arm he presented her visitor just as she stepped through.

In adulthood, Edana had grown as tall as her father and statuesque as her mother. But her eyes were what arrested Bessa’s attention, because over the years she had forgotten how remarkable they were. Sea green eyes distinguished Edana most from Silurans; furthermore they tilted at the outer corners, giving them an almond shape.

In girlhood Edana’s lips always curved with mischief, but now she betrayed no hint of roguishness. Instead, prominent cheekbones gave her face a sensuous cast, set off by the sweep of her dark auburn hair into an intricate knot. At the crown of her head, a crisscrossing network of pearls and emeralds formed a circlet from which hung a teardrop pearl.

True to their history, where Bessa chose blue Edana went with green, and thus her dress was a vivid emerald. Braided in gold, Edana’s belt emphasized the smallness of her waist. Flashes of her rose-gold skin showed through her sleeves, fastened at intervals with golden buttons.

One item adorned Edana’s neckline—a portrait necklace, the twin to Bessa’s.

Bessa’s heart leapt at that glint of light. The years fell away, of no account now. But Edana held back in the doorway, her body still and poised as she searched Bessa’s face.

“Edana,” Bessa breathed, finding her voice. She held out her hand.

That did it. Like a doll come to life, Edana moved, rushing forward to clasp Bessa and kiss her cheeks, embracing her in a fierce hug.

“I’ve missed you so,” Edana whispered.

Soon she released Bessa, and the two women stood face to face. Bessa studied her, trying to understand the sadness she detected in Edana’s eyes.

“Six years,” Bessa choked, overcome.

Edana closed her eyes and shuddered.

“Have the years been kind to you?” Bessa whispered

Edana’s knuckles whitened as she clutched her necklace. “I prayed, Bessa, for this day, this moment. Hope sustained me …”

Overcome, she stopped herself and looked away. Just like the old times when she didn’t want anyone to see her cry.

“We have all night,” Bessa said, with a gentle clasp on Edana’s shoulders.

A gasp from behind made Bessa whirl back, to find Pippa gaping at them.

“By the Huntress,” Pippa swore, forgetting herself. At a look from Bessa she straightened up and addressed Edana. “Er—welcome, optima.”

Bessa glanced at Edana, who had seized the interruption to compose herself. “Do you remember our tagalong?”

Slowly Edana smiled, a spark in her eye. “Little Pippa,” she said, and bowed her head to Pippa.

In turn Pippa glowed, as if honored to be remembered by Edana, even for as dubious a distinction as ‘the tagalong.’

“Not so little anymore,” Bessa corrected, remembering a conversation Pippa had with her a few months prior. “Please meet anew my cousin, Philippa Bessa Philomelos.”

Pippa smiled at Bessa in obvious gratitude for acknowledging she was not a little girl still. “Grandmother says to tell you all is prepared.” As a mark of her growing maturity she quickly left, having the grace not to intrude any further than she must.

Bessa twined her arm lightly in Edana’s. “Come.”

Aurelia Caerena Cunovendi awaited them in the dining hall. She reclined languorously on a throne of cushions in an alcove straddled with two columns of pink marble.

The widowed matriarch of the Philomelos family, Aurelia reflected her mourning with a gown of crimson silk and a golden shawl trimmed with jet beads. Swan-white hair crowned her head, styled in a top knot—a simple knot, for once—with a single, thin band of gold forming a circlet upon her brow, joined at the center by an onyx butterfly.

Though age dulled their luster, Aurelia’s grey eyes were still sharp enough that Bessa knew she spotted her and Edana when they entered from the far side of the hall. Grandmother regarded them with calm benevolence, showing none of the levity she had used against Bessa during the day, when Bessa set everyone on a mad course to prepare for Edana’s arrival. She held out her hand to Edana, who in turn kissed it.

“Matrona,” Edana solemnly replied.

Grandmother’s prominent cheekbones always gave her a saucy air when she smiled as she was smiling now. In vain Bessa tried to catch her eye. Let the woman behave herself, please!

“Dear girl,” Grandmother began, with a twinkle in her eye. “You have grown beautiful in your absence, and are quite the fine lady. Dare I imagine you have a husband? Your parents must have had an easy time finding a match for you.”

Edana lowered her eyes and softly replied, “Kind of you to say so, my lady. However … my parents are no longer on this side of eternity.”

Bessa’s stomach plunged, and she clapped a hand around it as if she had been punched. The Nuriels dead? Uncle Min’da and Aunt Sorcha, gone? Poor Edana, she thought, and squeezed her hand.

“My dear, dear, girl,” Grandmother crooned. “We grieve with you, and share your sorrow.”

Edana bowed her head, accepting the sentiment.

The vast Philomelos vineyard included the family compound, where all three of Bessa’s uncles lived with their families. Hedrek, Linos, and Morivassus, the younger brothers of Bessa’s father, came to the feast in honor of the blood bond Edana’s father once forged with their deceased brother.

The younger Philomelos children lined up behind their parents, and respectfully inclined their heads to Edana as she was introduced—or reintroduced—to them. Pippa, the third child behind Linos, winked impishly at Edana.

Before they sat for dinner, a servant who had accompanied Edana presented her with an ornate box of chased gold. From the box Edana brought forth an alabaster bottle, and presented it to Aurelia, whose eyes brightened when she caught the scent.

“Spikenard,” Grandmother breathed, eliciting coos from Bessa’s aunts.

The box held more: two bolts of fine, intricate trim embroidery from Sirônasse, one snow white and one jet black. Along with those Edana included several matching sets of hair needles of ivory and jet, each with a head carved into nightingales.

The final gift was solely for Bessa, which Edana personally presented to her. This came in its own box, silver and repousséd with a depiction of Kyria, the primordial queen of the dryads. With fluid, graceful lines, the artist portrayed Kyria bowing to the Huntress, the mother of dryads. The story of the encounter was Bessa’s favorite as a child, and she smiled to see that Edana still remembered.

“Open it,” Edana said, before Bessa found her voice.

Eager, Bessa obeyed. White linen lined the box’s interior, to protect a codex bound in leather. Buttery soft leather, dyed a deep cerulean blue and tooled with a filigree pattern. Bessa stared in shock before she lifted it out of the box.

With a deep inhale she took in the scent of cedar oil used to treat the parchment pages. A flutter went through her when she saw the first page was dyed purple.

The box also contained two enameled, double-chambered inkpots. One set Bessa knew would contain red or black ink. Red, for chapter titles and emphasis, and black for plain text.

The flutter in her belly intensified when she discovered the other pair contained chambers of gold ink in one, and silver in the other, to gild certain passages. Or perhaps to write her byline; either way the inks were a fashionable extravagance Bessa never dared to indulge before.

The final item made her heart skip a beat: a quill pen. She had heard that in other parts of the empire scribes wrote with pens made from the feathers of swans or crows, but she did not know how the feathers were prepared for the purpose. A quill pen was perfect for writing on parchment, and lasted longer than any reed pen would. Or so the claims went. Was it true? She lightly ran her finger along the shaft.

“You always liked to tell stories,” Edana said softly. “You once told me how you wanted to enter the Phoenix Festival.”

An ambition Bessa had never lost. Often she dreamed of having her own plays staged in the legendary festival at Valentis, the capital of the Rasena Valentian empire. The winner would receive many honors, but the one Bessa coveted most was the phoenix-feather quill. Unlike even the swan-feather quill Edana had given her, pens made from the feathers of the phoenix stayed forever sharp.

A tear came to Bessa’s eye. Edana’s feelings were firmly established: she loved them still. Bessa embraced Edana again, clasping her tightly and kissing her cheeks.

“I love you, too,” Bessa said, smiling as she brushed away her tears.

Edana smiled back.

“Are we to understand your parents are Beyond?” Uncle Linos asked when the wine was poured.

A choice Valentian wine, Aurelia had selected it to honor the blood bond between Min’da and her firstborn, Nikandros. The men had served together in their legionary days. Bessa; however, wanted the wine for Edana’s sake: out of respect for Edana’s beliefs, she would not serve her any wine offered to the Reaper. Which meant Bessa did not serve her the new wine from her own vineyard.

With expectant eyes upon her, Edana began to explain.

The Nuriels had traveled far, and had far to travel, when they left Silura and came to the Sea of Five Dragons. There they crossed the sea on the natural land bridge that joined Silura to Hesperia, where most of the nations of the Rasena Valentian Empire were located.

Pippa’s eyes lit up. “Is it true there are stone dragons overlooking the isthmus? Do they look like they might have been real?”

“The statues do look life-like, but I’ve never seen a real dragon,” Edana said with an indulgent smile. “The plaque near one of them says a legendary sorceress summoned them to protect Silura from invaders. Somehow she froze them, but they will reawaken if Silura is ever again in danger. They’re huge, and terrifying.”

Her eyes darkened. There was more.

In her journey Edana even traveled southwest into Tartessia, the land of Nerissa, wife to Uncle Morivassus. What she remembered most of Tartessia were the oceans of wild horses running through valleys and fields. Some horses were gold, and some were silver; all were marvelous in her sight.

The Nuriels then sailed to Kyanopolis, a major port in Vassinassa, one of the the nations in the empire’s southern coastlands. They joined a great caravan of merchants heading east. Min’da had wanted Sorcha and Edana to see the route he had taken as a youth, when he left the Terebinth Valley as a conscripted soldier, and ended in Silura as an artisan.

They never made it to the Terebinth. A week out of Kyanopolis, outlaws began stalking their caravan as they traveled through the scrublands of Vassinassa. In the hour that suited their purposes, they set upon the caravan. Because the caravan’s sorcerers protected the group with shields that repulsed spells and arrows, Edana had dared to believe the caravan was safe.

But the outlaws did not come at or from above the caravan. Instead, the bandits’ sorcerers took advantage of the rocky soil to conjure sharp stone lances that shot up from the ground and impaled anyone in their path. The shield failed, as the sorcerers in the caravan needed to rally secondary defenses.

Everywhere was chaos.

Everyone was screaming.

The Nuriels ran, Edana’s mother holding her arm so tightly she bruised. At first she and her mother stayed close behind Papa, weaving through the crowd. So intently did Edana focus on Papa that she didn’t see the bandit until he suddenly loomed in front of her. She screamed, unleashing all her terror.

Papa unsheathed his sword, a single swipe at the man’s armor drawing his attention from Edana.

Never again would she see him alive.

Hands clasped tightly together, Edana and her mother fled at Papa’s command. They dodged and pushed and squeezed their way through the crowd.

Screeeeeech!

Gryphons!

The magnificent beasts flew overhead, their shadows blotting out the sun. The beating of their wings kicked up dirt, knocking grit into the eyes of those on the ground.

Ten gryphons, Edana counted. Yet even one was astonishing enough in this part of the world. Whatever these bandits were, they clearly were not simple outlaws. Ice filled her belly as she wondered what plans the outlaws held in store for their victims.

The gryphons bore down on the fleeing traders, tearing apart anyone caught in their paws. The sorcerers riding the gryphons unleashed missile after missile, making short work of the caravan’s defenses.

All that morning the caravan had traveled atop a low ridge. Now Mama took Edana by the hand, pulling her down the slope. A scrub forest lay ahead on the opposite ridge to their north, which hugged the coasts. Gryphons could not maneuver so easily in a forest.

Almost there, almost there—another lance shot up, throwing Mama several feet into the air. The blow sent her tumbling partway down the bluff, where she landed in a heap.

Surprise and momentum propelled Edana forward. Only an ill-placed rock stopped her when she tripped and stumbled over it, landing hard on her knees and hands. Ignoring the sting of tiny pebbles embedded in her palm, Edana crawled over to her mother.

Mama clutched her stomach. Desperately she gasped for breath. And spit up blood instead. Terrified, Edana threw her arms around her mother and tried to lift her. Only Mama’s shriek of pain stopped her.

Don’tpanicdon’tpanicdon’tpanic—

Tears shimmered in Mama’s eyes. Blindly she clutched at Edana, ceasing only when Edana grabbed her hands and squeezed.

“Mama, stay with me!”

But Mama snatched one hand away, only to grip Edana’s shoulder and shove her. Abruptly Edana stared at the sky, then the ground, then the sky again, as she tumbled backward and rolled to the foot of the bluff. A huge shadow passed over her, and at last she understood what had truly frightened Mama.

A gryphon.

“Run!” Mama rasped. Her voice was weak.

The gryphon was circling low overhead, and Mama threw a stone at it. Distracting it from seeing Edana. By instinct Edana scrambled away, making for a stand of trees shading the slopes of the northern ridge. The trees served as her cover until she reached the ridge crest, where she promptly climbed a tamarisk tree. She prayed the pink flowers arrayed on the tree would conceal her. From that vantage point she witnessed the bandits swarm all over the fallen. The gryphons all bore riders, except for the one circling over Mama.

The riders were letting the gryphons feast on the dead. Edana, forcing herself not to retch, turned away. Mama’s trick with the stone hadn’t brought the riderless gryphon any closer. Maybe it wasn’t hungry. Maybe it would fly away. Maybe Mama would survive, maybe it was poss—

The gryphon swooped, landing at a run.

The beast paced and pawed in front of Mama. It spread its wings, blocking Edana’s view, its plumes shimmering with shades of blue, purple, and silver in the late afternoon sun. Its otherworldly scream shook Edana, and her pulse quickened as the beast bobbed its head down, as if—

Edana clenched her teeth so hard her jaw ached; with all her might she forced herself not to scream in harmony with Mama. Screaming would give away her position.

And undo Mama’s sacrifice.

Shaking in rage and grief, Edana resolved not to look over there again. Instead she fixed her gaze on the arriving beast master who jauntily approached his evil beast. From her vantage point all that distinguished him were his robes, which matched his gryphon. But soon enough Edana averted her gaze, and gradually allowed herself to see what was going on elsewhere.

Most of the gryphons she had seen flying overhead were fawn-feathered with white speckles. Now she spotted a lone golden one prancing amongst the bodies. Leaving the other one, the evil one, as the most distinctive. The equally distinctive owner of that gryphon must have high status compared to his brethren, Edana suspected. A status which may give him enough notoriety for Papa to hunt him down and make him pay.

The swordsmen bandits were more plainly dressed in knee-length, dun colored robes they closed with braided sashes. Up close they had terrified her, on account of the teeth, scalps, finger bones, and gold hanging from their sashes.

In contrast the bandit sorcerers wore blue ankle-length robes, and their sashes were purely of human hair, in all the colors thereof, and braided into four thick strands. After watching them a while, Edana realized the hair came from those the bandits vanquished.

Hope dawned in Edana’s heart when she realized the beast masters had allowed the gryphons to enter a feeding frenzy. Perhaps the beast masters might lose control, and the bandits would get eaten in turn. How fitting it would be…

One sorcerer dashed her hopes. First he strutted about on his gryphon, but slid down when he spotted the silk-clad corpse of a merchant on the slopes of the southern ridge. He approached the merchant…

…who was not dead after all. The merchant sprang up and gave the sorcerer an uppercut, knocking him off balance. Edana tensed, willing him to win.

The merchant was relentless, not allowing the sorcerer to land one punch without giving the bandit three of his own. He tore loose a pendant from around the neck of one sorcerer, slapping him with it. He staggered back when the sorcerer made a feeble attempt of throwing a bolt at him. The sorcerer succeeded only in making a light spark in the dirt, his arm deadened by the merchant’s fierce kick.

The sorcerer rose, the merchant tensed, but only the gryphon moved, lunging for the sorcerer, who turned just in time to prevent the gryphon from taking more than a piece of his robe. Quickly, he used his good hand to raise his dead arm, crossing his arms in front of his face. A shimmer of silver light appeared between himself and the beast.

But the sorcerer must have forgotten that he now presented his back to the merchant, who wasted no time in stabbing him in it. The gryphon set to work, and was joined by one of its own, which rushed past the merchant to get to the fallen sorcerer. The gryphons ignored the merchant, but the other bandits didn’t. They overwhelmed him, killing him before reclaiming the necklace.

Edana deflated, sorry the brave man could not kill more bandits; sorry that he could not himself survive. But now she saw how she might survive: not all of the sorcerers were beast masters; the other brigands must have used amulets imbued with their power.

The field of dead seemed never-ending. The few survivors she observed were immediately subdued and chained. Were they to become slaves? Except, slaves were less expensive than gryphons, so surely the outlaws intended more than mere slavery for their captives?

The sun was sinking. At most they would have two hours before sunset. The bandits took to their chariots and their gryphons and rode off, the gryphon-riders scouting ahead, the chariot-riders kicking up grass and dust and rocks. Slowly they disappeared into the horizon.

For the first time she winced, feeling at last the sharp scrapes and cuts on her palms. Cuts compound in pain by the salt coating the leaves and branches of the tamarisk trees she’d been hiding amongst. She hadn’t noticed how tightly she’d clutched those branches before now.

She ignored the pain.

Dismounting from the tree, she stumbled, off balance. Her legs seemed boneless, and she couldn’t walk straight.

Mama.

Mama was beyond any attempt to send her properly into the Everlasting. Whatever might be left of her, Edana couldn’t bear to see it. Loving memories flooded her and overwhelmed her, such that she tore at her own clothes. A heaviness fell upon her, and her jaw trembled and ached as she struggled not to cry.

Crying took time, and she must find Papa, whom she hadn’t spotted amongst the captives she had been able to see from her perch.

The stench of blood and viscera assaulted her with full force when she reached the ridge. She doubled over, retching violently. When her stomach emptied, her body resorted to dry heaves instead. She sagged, weakened and exhausted and barely able to lift her head.

After several attempts, Edana managed to get back to her feet. The stench forced her to shield her nose.

Papa would be searching for her and Mama.

Scanning the expanse of scrubland before her, Edana tried to filter out every color except green, the color of Papa’s travel cloak. Her mind swirled with thoughts of how he’d react to the news, of what their lives would be like without Mama. Fear quickened her steps; she couldn’t let him miss her. Now, now, now, find him now.

Papa lay face down, near a bandit whose neck bore a wide, red smile.

Edana sank to her knees, motionless for an eternity.

The world spun; the surrounding corpses blended into one mass before her eyes.

Finally, she fell down beside Papa. He was still. She forced herself to acknowledge that detail: still, unfeeling, and beyond comforting her. Trembling, she gathered the fabric of his cloak in her fist and gripped it fiercely as she embraced him.

The coming chill would surely take her. Since landing in Kyanopolis, they always had to make fires at night, for the oppressive heat vanished with the sun. Unless she now made a fire, she would freeze. In eerie silence she waited for twilight. How long would it would take for true night to follow?

No.

Papa’s voice in her mind. He was not like anyone in Falcon’s Hollow. When she was old enough to realize this, she asked him why. Why didn’t they go to the temples, or make offerings like everyone else? Papa had held her face in his hands and looked her right in the eyes.

“Their gods are not mine,” he said. “Their ways are not mine.”

Theirs and his, not we and ours. He taught her his ways, as he had taught her mother, who was from the isle of Yriel, but it marked them as outsiders, and Papa said as much to Mama. This was why he wanted to go back, and join his brother.

I died so you could live. I killed to keep you safe. Papa’s voice again. Did his spirit remain? Perhaps it was wishful thinking. His way did not include seeking guidance from the dead.

Edana buried her face in his back, shivering, and soaking Papa’s cloak with her tears. What was she to do in this abominable scrubland? She, a child of the river and the fens of Falcon’s Hollow? She who never wanted to come here in the first place?

But Papa never wanted to be a soldier, either. That life was forced on him, by the will of the empire.

This route, this cursed route he had taken to Silura and from the Terebinth Valley, had shown him what good he could do as a soldier.

He could wallow in bitterness, or he could protect the borders.

He could stew in resentment, or he could bring order so the law could prevail.

He could waste time wishing for a different life, or he could make life safe for those who could not fight and win against those who meant them harm.

To protect girls like you, he told Edana and Bessa, when they cornered him one day and pestered him with questions about the empire beyond Silura. He told them stories.

Edana blinked back her tears. Papa would not approve of her giving up. His people were survivors, he once insisted. What did they survive? Everything, he told her.

Including Rasena Valentis.

That was when she began thinking of the empire as something other than home, and its way the way things were supposed to be; that she was in the empire, but not of it.

Shame flooded her as she eased up to lean against Papa’s right arm. Her parents, especially Mama, had paid a horrific price for Edana’s survival. She must live. Death-through-despair was dishonorable.

Edana listened to the wind rustling the clothes of the corpses, and let the tears dry on her face. If she would honor her parents she must not be foolish. She needed to weight the balance in her favor.

Seed money. All that her parents taught her would serve her well, but not without money. In the waning light she searched Papa, seeking any coin, any jewel that he still possessed. Because he’d fallen on his side, trapping his hand and short sword beneath himself, the weapon escaped the notice of any looters. After a moment’s hesitation, Edana sheathed his sword and bound its belt around her waist.

Swiftly, Edana examined the enemies Papa had felled, seeing who wore the cleanest robe. Finding one, she ruthlessly stripped him of it. If these outlaws ruled the Scrubs then she would do well to be taken for them. At least at a distance.

It took her several heartbeats to steel herself for her next task: loot the bodies of those she once traveled beside. But time was against her and she hardened her heart. She pawed through victims and murderers alike, until she came to the bottom of the fourth pile, where a corpse in dun robes yielded up the treasure she sought: a beast master’s amulet.

There was one thing she must do.

With care, she removed Papa’s cloak and brought it to her nose. A deep inhale, and the scent of pitch and beeswax flooded her. The scent of her parents’ workshop. Remember.

At last, she forced herself to wrap the fabric over his body, and tried not to cry because she couldn’t put him and Mama beside each other.

Darkness came, but by then Edana had sought the forest and its shelter.