Chapter 12 Lena
TWELVE
LENA
Lena barely had time to stumble to her feet and aim her bow before Silah lunged.
Casimir flew backward, a horrified curse escaping his lips as he landed with a thud on the wooden floor. He scurried to recover, a dagger drawn in both hands and his stance braced for attack.
Silah was … changing. Her bloodied skin sloughed from her bones, her arms and limbs lengthening as joints bent inward. A fleshless face jerked upward to the ceiling and screamed.
It was a soul-shattering screech that pulled all of the strength from Lena and dropped her to her knees.
Focus on its threads, Lenora! The ancient voice hastily cut in. Command it to obey!
But Lena couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. All she could hear and feel was that awful shrieking, so filled with anger and grief that it made her own heart ache in response. She needed to fire her bow. To cut off the noise somehow.
Let me help you. Let me show you.
Lena could feel her resolve slipping away. Fight, Lena. Her mother’s face appeared in her mind, eyes bright as she held her crying daughter after another particularly awful vision. As long as you keep fighting, there is hope.
Lena scoured her memory for stories of the creature Silah had now become. A young woman killed horrifically. A bloodied, almost wraithlike form, and that scream, so primal and agonizing …
It had to be a byrnen.
With shaky hands, Lena raised her bow. Every muscle ached as she pulled back the arrow, but somehow, somehow, she managed to aim it toward the korupted Silah had become.
One breath in, and—
Release.
The arrow pierced Silah through the neck, cutting off her scream. The creature turned her bloodied gaze turned toward Lena and, in a rasping whisper, uttered two words.
“Thank you.”
She crumpled to the floor, her body collapsing on itself as flesh and bone became nothing more than a pool of blood.
Nausea rose in Lena’s throat, so strong that she had to close her eyes and let out a half dozen deep breaths to keep the meager rations she’d had on their journey from coming back up.
When she finally felt sure she wasn’t going to throw up, Lena forced her eyes open, her attention immediately shifting to Casimir.
Like her, he’d barely moved since Silah had attacked.
His usually tan face was pale, his eyes wide and glassy as he stared at what was left of his friend.
She expected him to be in shock. To question what in the Sisters’ name he’d just seen. Instead, the smuggler said, “They did this.” He was trembling, his breath coming out sharp and quick. “The Empire’s Fist. All because she helped me.”
Silah must have identified her assailants to Casimir before Lena had arrived. Even if Silah hadn’t, it would have been an easy guess; in all Lena’s years of life, she had only known one group responsible for such brutality.
Finaen’s grim face flashed before her as he’d told her of the recent raid on Rekavyrg. They were searching for heretics. The people there were forced to dig twice as many graves when the Fist finally left.
A flood of anger went through Lena, so fierce she found herself gripping her bow tight enough to hurt. Nothing will ever change, she thought. Not for people like us.
No, the ancient voice replied, the anger in her voice a mirror to Lena’s own. Unless we make it so.
“She didn’t deserve this,” Casimir said, his dark gaze rising to meet Lena’s. It was the most unsure she’d seen him look during their short time together.
“This wasn’t your fault,” Lena whispered.
Casimir shook his head. “The Fist have been on the Raven’s trail for years.
I’ve managed to keep my identity hidden so far, but if they somehow found out Silah was helping me …
” He trailed off, his features twisting with pain, and the threads around him wavered with what Lena thought might have been uncertainty.
“I don’t know how much information the Fist have.
If they know about the mountain route, it might be safer if we—”
“No.” Lena shook her head. “They don’t get to scare us into submission. They don’t get to win.”
She was breathing hard now, and the pain in her wrist was almost a welcome sensation.
If this was what the Fist did to someone for associating with the Raven, what would they do if they discovered Finaen and Maia had let the empire’s next Fateweaver escape?
She’d thought she’d been protecting them by running away, but …
But nothing, her mind argued, the voice entirely her own this time. The empire can’t use you against them if you’re not here; they’re safer with you gone.
Casimir nodded once, a single, determined action.
“They don’t get to win.” He sucked in a breath, closed his eyes.
When he opened them again, they shone with a determination fierce enough to match Lena’s own.
“The storm is too bad to find anywhere else to stay for the night. We’ll …
we’ll stay in the outbuilding, like we planned. ”
“And if the Fist come back?” Lena asked, eyeing the door warily. It was doubtful, given the storm, but life in the Wilds had taught her to never be too careful.
The smuggler sent a final glance to the space where Silah had once stood. “Then they’ll wish they hadn’t,” he said, and with one final, whispered goodbye, Casimir strode out of the trader’s home.
Lena allowed herself a moment to linger. To look back at the bloody puddle on the ground and utter her own worthless apology.
Perhaps one day, if the Lost Sisters returned and freed the Fateweaver from the empire’s control, the power inside of Lena might be used for something good. But until that day came, all Lena could do was keep running.