Chapter 2 #2
He had walked to the edge of the market, pulling the woolen knapsack off his shoulder to stow away his purchases. His attention appeared to be aimed at the wall, though. He didn’t notice her approaching behind him, too absorbed by whatever thoughts were tumbling around in his head.
Iryana slipped her hand under the cloth hiding the contents of her basket, and pulled out a bundle of cut plants with loose balls of yellow-green flowers and long, thin leaves.
They'd been a pain to get a hold of this time of year. It was the best she could offer him without inspecting the wound herself, and that just wasn’t an option.
She held the bundle out, looking down at the ground, though his broad back was to her.
“Take the leaves, not the flowers—that part’s important—rip them up as much as you can, use rocks to crush them if you can get them clean enough, and then bundle them up in a bit of fabric and boil it.
When it’s cool enough to touch, use it as a poultice on your wound. ”
He turned, and she watched as his hand hesitantly reached for the plant.
Iryana looked up. He was tall. The man, only a couple of years older than her, was frowning like he didn’t understand a word coming out of her mouth.
His eyes were so light blue that they were almost gray, half-lidded with an almost sleepy look to them.
But somehow his gaze was still sharp and thorough as he took her in.
Confusion swarmed her. She had seen him before. Somewhere.
But where?
He wasn’t the type of man one would overlook.
His shoulders were broad, his body likely corded with muscle beneath his clothes.
He looked a class above the other volunteer fighters, like a man whose entire life was based on his strength and ability to fight.
He was nearly as big as her Uncle Dinhal.
Perhaps he had volunteered at the post before?
“Are you a forged healer?” he asked cautiously.
“No,” she answered absently, still trying to place him. “Just know how to make a poultice.”
“Well, thank you.” The words sounded unpracticed on his tongue, but he took the bundle from her.
Then it hit her as she looked at his hand, the powerful shape triggering a memory.
A dark night, just a sliver of moonlight to reveal the two men standing behind the main house. Iryana had slid back out of sight, not wanting to be seen. But she saw them.
Her eldest cousin Tonhald glared at the man with the tired blue eyes, a smear of blood on his cheek. And that man had Tonhald’s shirt bunched in his fist, his words an undecipherable growl. She couldn’t tear her gaze from the man’s fist, pushing harder into her cousin’s throat.
Tonhald begged him, shaking hands held up for mercy.
Iryana stumbled backwards, shaking away the past, her confused gaze now tightened into a violent glare.
It had been years since she’d seen him around their post. She’d thought he had been assigned elsewhere, been promoted, or perhaps just ripped apart by dakii. She hadn’t much cared which.
“You’re the enforcer,” she accused. A soldier sent by the military gangs to keep those at their border “in line.”
When he was assigned to visit their post, she had seen him pretty frequently for that summer, and then others came instead. She hadn’t seen him again. Was he the one who had met her grandmother a few days ago? The one who had threatened her?
Yes, she decided.
She didn’t remember his name, wasn’t sure if she’d ever learned it, but he was one of them. He wasn’t there to help her family. He was there to make sure they paid the protection money his people demanded, to make sure they followed the rules.
This man was worse than the liaison who lived almost full time in the village. Nevesh Dyol didn’t go around selling dangerous “medicine” or roughing up the Kleesolds, though she certainly had no love for him either.
“Ah,” he said, as if settled by her outburst. “I’m still keeping these. Pyetar, by the way.”
She bristled, cheeks reddening as she realized it was the second time she’d mistaken him for a volunteer.
The first time she’d seen him must have been two years ago, when he’d arrived the same day she was expecting a new set of volunteers from the duchess’s city.
She’d been mostly training with volunteers at the time and hadn’t yet gotten over the loneliness of moving out of the main house.
She’d walked right up to him and started talking about training schedules and where to find out his housing assignment and whatever else had poured out of her mouth.
Gods, she winced. She’d flirted with him too, even considering messing around with him in one of the storehouses like she had with a few of the other volunteers.
It had been a way to blow off steam and ease the sharper edges of her loneliness.
She’d thought him handsome, attractive. The thought made her want to vomit now.
She’d avoided him the rest of that summer once she realized who he actually was.
The last time she’d seen him, he was shouting at the First in the market square.
Two other soldiers from the brigade were with him.
More waiting down in the valley. Pyetar had demanded more of their supplies, more of the harvests that they needed to get through the long, dark winter.
Said the brigade was short, and if they didn’t take extra from the posts, they wouldn’t be able to stop the dakii from swarming their homes. The threat of it was clear.
Based on the waves of emotion on his face, she knew he was remembering her mistakes, too.
She could do nothing, not without it causing trouble for her family. But oh, how she wanted to deck him.
The urge kept her standing there before him instead of fleeing like she knew she should. As if the longer she thought about it, the more likely she was to find a way to hurt him without having it thrown back in her family’s face.
It was hard to acknowledge the situation her clan was in, and the brigade was partly to blame for that.
Pyetar started packing up the plants she’d given him, tucking them gently inside his knapsack. Iryana just stared, her mind still spiraling.
For centuries the Kleesolds had been one of the most prominent guardian clans, nobly guarding their city Klees and the surrounding countryside from the invaders that came by sea, sailing up the river to take as many of the forged people of Istri as they could fit in their ships.
Everyone in Istri had some amount of magic, so they could be indiscriminate in who they took.
Once the dakii came, though, the invaders stayed far away, leaving Istri to suffer.
Any ship that ventured too far past their shores was sunk.
Guardians were part of the Ketsan, the class of nobility in Istri, but being a guardian meant far more than just social status.
It was the duty of the clans to serve and care for the territory assigned to them, working alongside the local dukes and duchesses of the various dukedoms, but not beholden to them.
The First of a clan only truly answered to the king and queen of Istri. But duty to their clan came before their duty to the royal family. And their duty to the people came before both clan and crown.
The Kleesold clan had done everything they could to protect their people when the dakii came—and when they failed, they saved as many as they could.
The Kingdom of Istri had fallen, the royal family and people of the capital city likely slaughtered.
Yet her clan still risked their lives every day to help those they could.
The brigades had no such honor.
And yet her family was a shadow of its former glory, having lost so many. So much. She couldn’t deny how far they’d fallen any longer. How closely they dangled on the precipice of destruction.
Her eyes narrowed further.
A distant sound yanked Iryana’s attention from the man. She replayed the sound in her head. The shrill yelp.
Pyetar opened his mouth, but Iryana gestured for him to be quiet. Her whole body tensed, listening.
“That’s just a falcon.”
“There are no falcons here,” she hissed back. “Shut up.”
Iryana closed her eyes to focus, to block out everything else.
The call repeated, a single yelp.
She hadn’t misheard.
Her eyes flew open. The market was near silent, everyone as still as her. The sudden loss of noise was almost deafening. They all knew what the calls were for.
“What does it mean?” Pyetar was tense, looking around at the frozen market.
“Shouldn’t you know? Don’t we pay you to protect us?” she seethed quietly.
“Do you know how many posts and villages border our territory? I can’t be expected to memorize all your signals.” His voice was gruff, impatient.
“A signal from the watchtower,” she answered in a hushed voice, hoping an answer would keep him quiet. “One call means dakii were sighted nearby, and they are monitoring to determine if a confrontation is needed.”
If it were only a lone dakya or a small group of dakii, they wouldn’t have bothered with the signal. That could be handled.
Iryana had snuck looks at the full watch rotations when she got her assignments, and she knew the guard was lighter than it should be. Still, with the current injuries, recent losses, and lack of willing reinforcements from the settlement, it was the best they could do.
They could fall so quickly.
Iryana listened carefully, eyes still screwed shut as she hoped there would be no more calls, but unable to keep herself from imagining what could happen if there were.
With a grunt, Iryana rubbed her fist against her eyes to banish the images of her remaining family members’ deaths flashing before them.
Uncle Dinhal ripped from hip to shoulder by night-black claws, falling to his knees with a soft grunt.
Her cousins shaking in fear as they tried to hold the dakii back until they were tackled to the ground.
Hadima thrown into the side of the house, away from their little sister she’d been protecting, her body crumpling like a rag doll.
Tonhald distracting the dakii so his wife and baby daughter could sneak away, his body torn open while he screamed.
Gods, why did her imagination torture her so?
Let it just be one call, she begged. If the threat increased, there would be more than one call in quick succession.
“What are you waiting for?”
She’d forgotten he was there.
“To see if the call changes.”
“What would that mean?”
She turned a glare at him, the light burning her opening eyes.
Couldn’t he tell she was close to losing it?
Drowning in dread? No, even if he could, he wouldn’t care.
He was from the brigade that was supposed to keep the dakii from getting this far into their valley in the first place.
He had threatened them with letting the dakii overtake them, and he had no qualms about watching them all die.
“Guardian,” he snapped, authority hardening his voice. “What would different calls mean?”
Her body jolted. She wasn’t sure how he even knew she was a guardian without her armor on. She didn’t have the mind to ask.
Iryana tensed her jaw. “Two calls in succession would mean they are going to engage and need help, backup. Three calls in succession means abandon the post.”
Pyetar’s face was serious as he looked toward the wall, as if inspecting it.
“How many are on duty already?”
She wanted to strangle him for his stupid questions. “Five.”
“How many can they take?”
“Two. Maybe.”
Pyetar frowned. “How many of those are metal-forged?”
“One.”
“How many could answer a call for help?”
“Why the fuck do you care?” she snapped, not wanting to think about it.
“It’s my duty to help protect your post from the dakii.”
Iryana nearly spat at his feet. The noble claim was laughable.
Her family were the ones protecting the innocent, training their whole lives to risk everything.
The 18th Brigade, the military brigade Pyetar belonged to, was little more than a bunch of thugs.
The rest of her family had more honor in the tips of their fingers than this man did in his whole body.
“How many would answer?” he growled.
She opened her mouth to snap out the number, but then she processed it. Her stomach clenched, and she looked back to the gate.
Her answer was a mere whimper. “Not enough.”
They stood in silence for a few moments longer, listening. It had been a while since the last call, but long enough that the danger was gone? The rest of the market seemed to think so as it gradually returned to normal.
Tension bled from her body, and Iryana took a few steps away from the man.
The dakii must have passed by them. The only way up to the well-hidden entrance to the post was a long switchback path that led up to the hanging valley.
It was difficult to climb, especially with the waterfall obscuring parts of it.
And this time of year, it would be slick with ice and mud.
Sweet, glorious relief flooded her. Her family was safe for the day.
Her beautiful sisters would laugh and braid each other’s hair before bed.
Cousin Tonhald would rock his baby girl to sleep.
The rest of her cousins would bicker and argue the way only those who truly loved each other could.
They would be there for each other, supporting each other. At least for one more day.
Iryana took another step, and just as her heel landed in the dirt, two quick, shrill calls sounded through the air.