Chapter 1 #3
She nodded again and tried to distract herself from her cousin’s questioning looks—glanced down at her helmet and rubbed her thumb against the side as if there was a smudge. She focused on one even breath after another.
Iryana had endless memories of her closest cousins bickering.
They usually started when Kladara would snap at something stupid, like losing a game, or Edvar being overly moody—which was often—or Tonhald being too bossy, or Levek trying to rush her.
Edvar was usually the one who escalated the fight, quick to take offense.
Tonhald would try to break them up but would shut down and storm off whenever Kladara yelled at him.
Levek usually stayed out of it, but he could be cuttingly critical when he felt obligated to step in.
She never thought she’d miss their fighting.
Hadima, Iryana’s older sister, was usually the peacemaker. Swooping in with a distracting joke or well-placed compliment. Thankfully for Iryana, she wasn’t there that afternoon.
“I was winning. Right, Iryana?” Kladara said, staring with sharp focus at Iryana and forcing her to look up.
Kladara’s gaze was cutting, intense. It always was. She’d never just let Iryana be, always had to poke her sore spots as if curious to see what she’d do.
Iryana looked at them, gaze flicking between Kladara and Edvar, both looking at her expectantly now. No matter what she said, one or both of them would be upset.
“I, uh,” she started, trying not to shrink. “I don’t know.”
Kladara scoffed and looked away, disappointment clear on her face. It was like a blow to the gut.
At least they returned to fighting between themselves, though Uncle Dinhal cut them off with various compliments and critiques from their bout. Ignoring the nonsense as he usually did.
It had been years since Iryana had been around them enough to pick up on such things, but watching them bicker again was almost like stepping back in time. There was a bit more tension between them than she was used to, though.
Then a young girl stepped out from beside Levek, and Iryana sucked in sharply.
The girl was closer to a woman now than Iryana remembered, watching their uncle closely, face flushed and hazel eyes wide from exertion.
Brown hair fell in two long braids down her back, the ends golden from the sun, and messy like she’d braided them in a rush instead of letting their older sister help her.
Her headscarf even hung down her back, her ears red with cold.
Training leathers wrapped around her small, thirteen-year-old frame.
Iryana let out a shuddering breath.
Misha.
Her youngest sister had always looked more like Iryana than their older sister, other than their eyes.
That seemed to have gotten even more pronounced.
Where Hadima’s beauty was soft and classic, Misha’s was sharper.
More delicate. Hadima and Misha had those same hazel eyes though, earthy green on the edges with a starburst of brown and gold in the middle.
Those similarities seemed to tie them together, something that could never be taken from Iryana.
All three sisters had the same wide eyes, arching brows, and full lips, though they were easy to tell apart.
Hadima stood out with her softness, Iryana with her blue eyes, and Misha with her constant furrow of concentration.
How had she not seen her?
Why was she training with the guardians and not the younger cousins her own age?
Iryana froze, still as a deer. Hurry Dinhal, she begged as Misha glanced her way. That look was so casual. So dismissive.
Uncle Dinhal started working through a sequence with Levek for demonstration, movements slow and precise. Iryana considered how horrible it would be to just race out of there, damn the consequences.
Then a small girl, the fairest of all the Kleesolds with her near-white hair and pale blue eyes, shot into the courtyard. Her steps were light, and her face scrunched with focus. Nevedya, one of Iryana’s more distant cousins, was only… seven, she thought. Assuming she remembered properly.
The demonstration stopped, all the Kleesolds turning toward the interruption. Iryana took a cowardly step backwards.
“I want to watch, Gyen Dinhal,” Nevedya pleaded, bowing slightly.
She was bundled in a thick cloak with slits for her arms, and a fur cap over her flowered headscarf. The days weren’t yet warm enough to forgo a cloak, at least not without armor or significant exertion.
“Where does Gyena Emadya think you are?” Uncle Dinhal demanded, brows raised.
Nevedya shrugged, like she hadn’t a clue.
“Nevi,” he ordered, but his voice was kind.
The little girl sighed. “I said I had a stomachache and had to lie down.”
“Your studies are just as important as your martial training.”
Perhaps once it was, but times had changed. Iryana kept that thought to herself.
“All we get to do is run and step through forms over and over. It’s boring,” Nevedya whined. “Besides, how will knowing my numbers and Istrin history help me kill dakii and defend our people?”
Uncle Dinhal threw his head back with an exasperated sigh, and Iryana wondered how common this interruption was.
“Nevi, are you not satisfied with your training?”
“It just feels like I am nowhere near ready to fight the beasts.” Nevedya’s serious face twisted into a pout, her arms crossed. “And I am tired of being coddled.”
Edvar sighed, mumbling. “That’s because you’re seven. Don’t wish away the brief childhood you have left.”
Kladara shot him a look. “It takes time, but you’re building up the muscles and instincts you will need one day.”
“The best thing you can do,” Uncle Dinhal told her gruffly, “is to work hard at your studies and training. Your first watch will come far sooner than any of us would like.”
Iryana shuddered at the thought of the little girl out with the beasts, trying to fight one off. Nevedya was too young to have ever been beyond their walls, to know what it had been like to retreat through the ruins of Istri in a desperate hope for salvation.
She needed to understand what was out there. The danger.
“A dakya tore my father’s leg off,” Iryana muttered, her voice louder than she intended based on the eyes that cut to her.
“Iryana!” Kladara hissed. “No need to traumatize the child.”
Iryana’s eyes flew wide. “Sorry, I—sorry.”
Edvar and Levek exchanged a look, no doubt about her.
Iryana screwed her jaw shut tight. Gods, why hadn’t she kept quiet? She wanted to puke. This was why she shouldn’t be around them.
Nevedya squinted at Dinhal. “What’s the big deal? They’re basically big wolves.”
Iryana’s stomach clenched. She wished that was the case.
Uncle Dinhal’s eyes grew dark. “They are not just big wolves. I fought a wolf once, almost twenty years ago. Came upon me when I was packing up camp.”
The Kleesolds sank into more relaxed poses as if excited for a story to give them a brief reprieve, despite the warning on their uncle’s face.
“Like I’d been taught, I made myself big, more of a threat to the wolf. I roared and swung my sword. It leaped at my neck, but I knocked it out of the way. And you know what it did then?”
The courtyard grew silent as he waited for one of them to answer. No one did.
Iryana almost took the opportunity to slink away while they were all so focused on her uncle, but it would only make things worse.
“It ran away,” he snapped. “You know why? They can be territorial, yes, but they are more defensive toward humans than anything else. It was without its pack and had no great reason to want me dead. When the wolf realized I was a threat, it slunk back into the woods. If I hadn’t had my sword, and it had been motivated to do so, the wolf would have easily killed me.
It would take far more to make one dakya to give up on a potential kill.
If it has any chance, it won’t give up, even if you injure it, even if it’s dying.
The dakii only care about killing us. And if you try to run, that will only drive the beast into a greater frenzy—and it will be faster than you. ”
Fear blossomed in Nevedya’s eyes, and it was well-earned. The dakii were a nightmare come to life. No one knew where they came from or why; they’d just suddenly been there in the forests. Their numbers growing and growing until the people of Istri could no longer fight them off.
Her uncle didn’t stop there. “A wolf would come up to my mid-thigh—most dakii come up to my shoulder, or higher. They’re big around as horses, covered in muscle, and their claws can pierce your armor, their teeth, your helmet.
The raw magic of your shield is about the only thing that can keep them from ripping into you, and even that won’t stop them for long.
“You can kill a wolf with a spear, sword, or arrow with a bit of luck or training—and remember that they hunt animals bigger than they are. The dakii are far better predators, and they are bigger than us.” Uncle Dinhal was breathing heavier, probably thinking of the many times he had fought the vile beasts.
It was probably harsh for a seven-year-old, but that was the world they lived in. Harsher perhaps than what Iryana had said, but her cousins had little tolerance for her.
Having been without access to a metal well for fifteen years, Uncle Dinhal was the youngest of their clan to be forged in one.
He had barely returned from his forging before the dakii came.
With his gruff appearance, he looked like a man whose entire adult life had been at war.
Rugged beard a bit too long to be tidy, piercing haunted eyes, prominent nose, and lips that rarely smiled.
“But we can kill them,” Nevedya said quietly.
Looking over, Iryana realized Misha looked equally determined. She hated the idea of her sister out there, fighting them. But thankfully, it would be a few years before the clan would let Misha beyond the walls.