“Grab her beneath her arms,” one of the soldiers ordered, beckoning to another. He sheathed his sword and came up behind her.
Suddenly Hettie swiveled on her ankle and extended her injured leg, a simple Bhikhu leg sweep, and two of them tumbled to the ground. Hettie did a quick forward roll and leapt up at the third, striking his chin with her palm, snapping his head back. She watched his eyes roll back as he staggered backward and fell. Gratified by the easy victory, Hettie spun around and stomped on one of the soldier’s arms as he reached for his fallen sword and she felt the bone crack. The other scampered away from her and she kicked him hard in the ribs, knocking him over.
Gazing down at the crumpled men, she nodded with satisfaction and slipped into the ruins, moving stealthily as she could, hiding behind slabs of lichen-speckled stone. The ruins were ancient, the stone pitted and ravaged by time and the elements. Only the barest suggestion of design and purpose could be observed. It was a lofty structure, with some tall buttresses still intact. She grazed her fingers on the rough stone, trying to imagine past the dimness of time to what the structure had originally been. The past was a secret here, a secret she yearned to know.
Voices ghosted through the mist and she stopped, hiding behind a broken column.
“I don’t know where Band-Imas is!” the man said in desperation. “His orders went silent.”
“What should we do, Lukias? Tyrus made it up the rampway in the fog. What do we do?”
“I don’t know, man! I’m trying to contact the Arch-Rike, but the aether is empty. Like nothing is there. Did he abandon us? I don’t know.”
Hettie maneuvered closer, trying to get a look at the two who were approaching quickly. Two sets of black Rike cassocks appeared, two men hunched over in conversation.
“Do you think he abandoned us?” one whispered dreadfully.
Hettie saw the one—Lukias. She recognized him and scowled.
Another shape appeared out of the mist, one of the hulking Cruithne bodyguards.
“Over here,” Lukias called, gesturing. “I want you with us when Tyrus arrives. He’s a Paracelsus with the fireblood. The man is deadly and aggravated. He may already be mad.”
“I know,” the Cruithne said and Hettie beamed, recognizing his voice. It was Baylen.
“Who are—?” The Cruithne swung a meaty fist around and struck the side of Lukias’s face, dropping him with the sound of a crunch. The other Rike tried to summon a shout of warning, but Baylen was fast and gripped his tunic at the throat and hammered into his stomach so hard, the man could only gurgle in pain and collapse.
“Baylen?” Hettie sighed with relief, emerging from the shadows and the stone and revealing her true self to him.
The Cruithne looked at her, not registering surprise or delight. “There you are.” He brushed his heavy hands together, his jowls quivering as a smile finally crept over his mouth. “I’ve been lurking up here for a while watching for Paedrin. Been taking advantage of the confusion to thin the herd.”
“I thought you were dead,” Hettie exclaimed. “Paedrin’s here too?”
The Cruithne put his hands on his hips. “A story I’ll tell you over a mug of ale. Paedrin said he was coming but it’s been a little while. With all the mist, we won’t be easy to find.”
“He’ll find us,” Hettie said. “Do you know a way off this rock?”
“Follow me. There’s no one leading them right now. I know the way back down. But I also know where they are all coming from. I don’t think we came all this way to leave early.”
Hettie unsheathed a dagger and nodded.
The smoke from the fires would have normally stung Phae’s eyes, but it did not. She thought about taming the flames with her fireblood, but she decided not to. The woods needed a chance to heal and be reborn. Fire would be the womb. She watched Annon disappear into the shroud of smoke as he bent his way toward the ruins of Canton Vaud.
Phae took Shion’s hands and marched him back to the tree. There were no longer any Weir, no longer any threats. Rumbles of thunder sounded overhead and she felt a few drops of rain on her wrists and hands. She climbed back up the nest of roots, pulling Shion after her until they came to the portal entrance.
“How long have you been gone?” he asked her, his voice quiet and thoughtful. “To us, it seemed but a moment. You are changed.” He reached out hesitantly, brushing aside some of her hair. A shiver went down her back at his touch.
“A lifetime. I’ve learned so much. I know your name. I know who you are.” She squeezed his hands, feeling her throat thicken. She reached to her belt where she had woven the chain of his talisman and quickly unfastened it. It was battered and dull, but she could feel the talisman’s power. He stared at it, his face crinkling with confusion.
Suddenly Hettie swiveled on her ankle and extended her injured leg, a simple Bhikhu leg sweep, and two of them tumbled to the ground. Hettie did a quick forward roll and leapt up at the third, striking his chin with her palm, snapping his head back. She watched his eyes roll back as he staggered backward and fell. Gratified by the easy victory, Hettie spun around and stomped on one of the soldier’s arms as he reached for his fallen sword and she felt the bone crack. The other scampered away from her and she kicked him hard in the ribs, knocking him over.
Gazing down at the crumpled men, she nodded with satisfaction and slipped into the ruins, moving stealthily as she could, hiding behind slabs of lichen-speckled stone. The ruins were ancient, the stone pitted and ravaged by time and the elements. Only the barest suggestion of design and purpose could be observed. It was a lofty structure, with some tall buttresses still intact. She grazed her fingers on the rough stone, trying to imagine past the dimness of time to what the structure had originally been. The past was a secret here, a secret she yearned to know.
Voices ghosted through the mist and she stopped, hiding behind a broken column.
“I don’t know where Band-Imas is!” the man said in desperation. “His orders went silent.”
“What should we do, Lukias? Tyrus made it up the rampway in the fog. What do we do?”
“I don’t know, man! I’m trying to contact the Arch-Rike, but the aether is empty. Like nothing is there. Did he abandon us? I don’t know.”
Hettie maneuvered closer, trying to get a look at the two who were approaching quickly. Two sets of black Rike cassocks appeared, two men hunched over in conversation.
“Do you think he abandoned us?” one whispered dreadfully.
Hettie saw the one—Lukias. She recognized him and scowled.
Another shape appeared out of the mist, one of the hulking Cruithne bodyguards.
“Over here,” Lukias called, gesturing. “I want you with us when Tyrus arrives. He’s a Paracelsus with the fireblood. The man is deadly and aggravated. He may already be mad.”
“I know,” the Cruithne said and Hettie beamed, recognizing his voice. It was Baylen.
“Who are—?” The Cruithne swung a meaty fist around and struck the side of Lukias’s face, dropping him with the sound of a crunch. The other Rike tried to summon a shout of warning, but Baylen was fast and gripped his tunic at the throat and hammered into his stomach so hard, the man could only gurgle in pain and collapse.
“Baylen?” Hettie sighed with relief, emerging from the shadows and the stone and revealing her true self to him.
The Cruithne looked at her, not registering surprise or delight. “There you are.” He brushed his heavy hands together, his jowls quivering as a smile finally crept over his mouth. “I’ve been lurking up here for a while watching for Paedrin. Been taking advantage of the confusion to thin the herd.”
“I thought you were dead,” Hettie exclaimed. “Paedrin’s here too?”
The Cruithne put his hands on his hips. “A story I’ll tell you over a mug of ale. Paedrin said he was coming but it’s been a little while. With all the mist, we won’t be easy to find.”
“He’ll find us,” Hettie said. “Do you know a way off this rock?”
“Follow me. There’s no one leading them right now. I know the way back down. But I also know where they are all coming from. I don’t think we came all this way to leave early.”
Hettie unsheathed a dagger and nodded.
The smoke from the fires would have normally stung Phae’s eyes, but it did not. She thought about taming the flames with her fireblood, but she decided not to. The woods needed a chance to heal and be reborn. Fire would be the womb. She watched Annon disappear into the shroud of smoke as he bent his way toward the ruins of Canton Vaud.
Phae took Shion’s hands and marched him back to the tree. There were no longer any Weir, no longer any threats. Rumbles of thunder sounded overhead and she felt a few drops of rain on her wrists and hands. She climbed back up the nest of roots, pulling Shion after her until they came to the portal entrance.
“How long have you been gone?” he asked her, his voice quiet and thoughtful. “To us, it seemed but a moment. You are changed.” He reached out hesitantly, brushing aside some of her hair. A shiver went down her back at his touch.
“A lifetime. I’ve learned so much. I know your name. I know who you are.” She squeezed his hands, feeling her throat thicken. She reached to her belt where she had woven the chain of his talisman and quickly unfastened it. It was battered and dull, but she could feel the talisman’s power. He stared at it, his face crinkling with confusion.
