31. Faylinn
Chapter 31
Faylinn
I woke hours later, confused and groggy. I reached down to pet Cotton, only to realize the weight on my feet wasn’t my cat at all, but a familiar looking box. I squinted my sleep-encrusted eyes as best I could to make out the contents.
Two books. A cactus . The bread was gone, but I guessed Sharol used it to feed the inn’s occupants.
Suddenly the events from yesterday came rushing back in full force, threatening to pull me back under into relentless grief and pain.
The Librarian. The Mages in the street. The attacking rebels. The wounded. The dead. So many dead.
As the memories came back, my heart rate increased, and my breath came in rapid pants. I forced myself to close my eyes and take deep, measured breaths.
I’m safe. I helped people. There is only so much I can control.
Once I felt like the weight of the grief and memories wasn’t going to drag me back into the dark place of last night, I opened my eyes and threw the covers off.
The faster I could get through this, the better.
I made quick work in the bathroom, only using the chamber pot and splashing water on my face, before I tried to tame my curls into a haphazard braid. I thought about changing out of the clothes Sharol gave me, but one look at the pile in the corner had me completely rethinking that idea. I settled for tying the shirt at my waist so it wouldn’t drag lower throughout the day and exited the room.
Immediately the sounds and smells of the common-room-turned-Healer-den hit me like a sharp blast of air. But it was different than yesterday. Yes, the smells of decaying and burnt flesh and alcohol permeated the space, and there were still the moans and groans of people in pain or dying. But there were other new noises offering a much needed contrast and reprieve. Children in various states of healing ran around, playing tag and giggling. Families talked quietly together over small meals. Women consoled each other, and a group of men and women—most likely those who started the fight against the rebel forces yesterday—talked animatedly in a corner.
As I scanned the crowd, a sense of something akin to pride wormed its way into my soul.
We survived.
I was still confused as to why the rebels attacked in the first place, and why their attack was so vicious, but that was something I could think about on a different day, once everything was settled and everyone was safe once more. I looked around, recognizing almost every face that found refuge in the inn, and while there were many who were able to make it inside of Sharol’s Rune Wards, there were far less here than the population of our town.
My eyes started to frantically jump from person to person, group to group, seeking out the friends who I considered family.
Where was Peti? Where were the Henshaw’s? Where was Ben? Where . . . where was Holt?
My heart rate spiked and as I scanned the crowd for a second and third time. I let out a slight breath when I finally spotted Mr. Henshaw and three of their children, but no Mrs. Henshaw, and two of the babies were missing. My heart plummeted, thinking the worst, and I decided to speak with him as soon as I found Ben and Holt.
I felt a shaky hand press against my shoulder, and I jumped from the sudden contact. Sharol stood next to me, looking even more frazzled and worn out than she had last night. There were black circles under her eyes and the whites were so bloodshot that they appeared a deep red. Her skin was still streaked with soot and blood, but some of it looked fresher than it had last night.
What happened while I was sleeping?
“Thank you for last night,” I mumbled quietly. Sharol squeezed my shoulder and turned her attention to the people in the common room.
“No thanks needed. I remember what it was like . . . my first time experiencing this level of death and destruction. It’s not something that really ever leaves you. You just learn to live with the scars and hope you never have to experience it again.”
Not for the first time, I wondered about Sharol’s past. While everyone in town knew her and adored her, she was an enigma, mostly keeping to herself and her inn. We even trained together here. I suppose we were alike in that regard. Sharol preferred the company of her inn, and I preferred my cottage in the woods with my books.
I squeezed her hand lightly before she dropped it from my shoulder.
“Go get cleaned up. And maybe rest a bit, Sharol. You look like death warmed over,” I attempted some levity, but it fell flat. Sharol shot me a wan smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
“Not yet, Fay. Soon, but not yet. These people, you, still need me for a bit longer.” Her voice was laced with pain and exhaustion, but I didn’t bother arguing with her. If Sharol wanted to continue helping, that was her decision.
We stood in silence for a moment longer before I asked the question I really didn’t want the answer to.
“Where is Holt?”
“Not here.”
“Yes, I can see that, Sharol.”
When she didn’t speak for a minute, a stone dropped in my stomach.
“Is . . . is he alive?”
“He’s not a body that I can see from the window,” is all she said. “Come, let’s check in with a few of our patients.”
With that, she led me into the common room where we weaved amongst the wounded and recovering, changing bandages and checking wounds where necessary. It was heartening to see some of the townspeople starting to make a recovery, and I felt a sliver of pride knowing that I was the one to help.
Time passed quickly as we moved throughout the room. Two more people—a man with an amputated leg due to being crushed by a stone from an Earth Mage, and the woman with the stomach wound—succumbed to their injuries overnight. Sharol selected two of the men who marched with Holt to remove the bodies and place them out back. A Water Mage with a little reserve left in their crystal froze the bodies so they wouldn’t decompose while we waited out the rebellion.
I ambled over to Mr. Henshaw while Sharol was out back with the bodies. He was tired, but he looked unharmed, at least physically. There was a haunted look in his eyes, though, that spoke of another pain, and I steeled myself in preparation for his words.
“Mr. Henshaw?” I approached carefully so as not to startle him or the children. He was staring into space, seemingly at nothing, while one of the youngest curled into his chest. Two of the older children—a boy and a girl—sat on either side of him, all their backs to the wall, the same haunted look in their eyes. The girl, Jenni, I think her name was, had red-rimmed eyes from crying.
He didn’t move when I first said his name, so I knelt until I was almost eye level with him and his children. I gently placed my hand on his knee while saying his name again, and he suddenly jerked, his whole body jumping at the contact.
“Y-yes?”
“Can I get you and the children anything?”
“N-no. We’re fine. Sharol just brought food by.”
I nodded my head, not knowing how to approach the subject of Mrs. Henshaw and the other children.
“She’s dead,” Mr. Henshaw said, his voice cracking on the last word. A wave of pain hit me like none I’d ever felt, tears leaking from my eyes and tracking down my face. “The babies, too. They’re all dead. They came up that way, through the farms. They burned a few of the crops and houses before claiming the others as theirs. That’s where they are now. Or some of them at least.”
He was rambling, his voice hitching every now and then, but I let him talk without interruption, knowing somehow that he needed to say what happened. Like saying it would make it real and allow him the space to begin healing.
“The kids were all asleep and Gen had gone to check on our littlest. She is . . . was . . . teething and I guess needed a cuddle or something. So Gen heard her crying and got up to go rock her. I smelled the smoke coming through the windows from the crops on fire and rushed to the room Gen was in. She told me to get the other kids. I went and woke them up and got them outside, but Gen never followed. My oldest got away from my grip and ran back inside to get his mom and baby sister. I heard . . . screams. Gen was screaming and wailing. They had gotten into the house through the back. They killed the babies in front of her before gutting her.”
My stomach revolted and threatened to upend everything that I ate last night.
Fucking monsters . Murdering babies and pregnant women? And they say the Warlord is the evil one .
“She was so excited to be a mom again. She loved those babies, you know? Loved them so much. What am I supposed to do now, Fay? What do I do? I can’t take care of these kids. I-I don’t know how.” Tears started falling down his face and his kids huddled into him. I had no words of comfort, no words to guide him, so I simply wrapped them all in a hug.
“I took the kids and ran. I got here just as Holt took out the fires. We wouldn’t have made it without him. When I see him, I need to thank him.”
We pulled out of the hug and Mr. Henshaw rubbed his cheeks.
“I haven’t seen him yet,” I said quietly. “But I’ll send him your way once I do.”
He nodded his head once, and I took that as my cue to leave.
“Ben got out, by the way.”
I turned back around.
“What?”
“Ben got out. He took his family’s horse and rode for Vespera. He’s going to get help.”
I nodded my head. “Thank you.” I was relieved Ben had gotten away in time, but even more worries cascaded through my mind.
How long will it take them to bring a force here? Is that really the best option? Just yesterday they killed the Librarian for being a Keeper. Is that really the type of help we want ?
My hands shook slightly as I continued to check in with other families and patients, my mind simultaneously checking out from the situation and whirling a mile a minute.
“Faylinn,” I heard my name called from across the room. Sharol stood near the side of the bar, close to the window. “I found Holt.”
The whole common room fell silent.
I slowly rose to my feet, the woman I was tending to squeezed my hand once before releasing it, and I strode over to where Sharol was standing. My vision started tunneling and the walk felt like an eternity.
Somehow, I made it to her in less than a dozen steps. She gripped both of my upper arms and stared directly into my eyes. “I need you to be brave. These people need you to be brave. Whatever happens, whatever they say, you need to stay within the runes. You must stay within my wards. They cannot get ahold of you. Do you understand me?” Her tone was fervent, and I found myself nodding numbly. She searched my eyes for another minute and seemed satisfied with what she saw because she nodded once before releasing me. Sharol guided me forward to the windows, a hand placed protectively on my back.
Once I reached the windows, I pushed my face as close to the glass as I could get, my hands pressing against the pane. There, just outside, right where the Librarian was tortured and killed, was Holt. The man who raised me, the man who loved me, the man who, for all intents and purposes, was my father. Three rebel Mages had him tied between them. One stood behind him—an older, larger man with a wild look in his eyes—a smaller woman with closed-cropped blonde hair held his left arm, and a willowy male teenager held his right. They all wore trousers that billowed about their legs before cuffing tight to their ankles and loose tunic shirts in light sand colors. They had clearly come from the southern tip of Elyria where the heat was relentless all year.
What a motley bunch of people .
A fourth man, tall and lithe with sandy-blond hair and enchanting hazel eyes, paced off to the side. His hands were clenched at his sides and a muscle continually ticked in his jaw as he watched the group of rebels hold Holt. Every so often, he would pace back and forth, like a wild cat that was caged. The whole effect was predatory and lethal, and I found myself shivering when his gaze met mine through the window .
He was powerful .
But I quickly shook off the feeling and focused back on Holt. He was kneeling, his hands tied behind his back, and his face turned toward the ground. I could see his back heave with each breath, and I knew that he was in pain. Blood and grime marred his clothing, and I couldn’t tell if it was his blood, or blood from the fight last night.
“People of Isrun! We have your leader!”
Leader? Holt’s not our leader. The mayor is . . .
“Or at least the one with the balls to actually defend his people. The other one has been removed of the appendage that he clearly doesn’t use and the one that he did, which caused him to cower in fear in his home while you all died out here!” the one in the back spoke, his voice loud with a slight manic tinge.
That man is unwell .
As soon as he was done speaking, a body dropped from the roof of The Corner before a rope tied around its waist pulled taught. The body banged against the second floor of the bar with a thud , and it took a minute to realize what I was seeing. The body was naked and missing its head and penis. The only defining feature of the corpse was its protruding white belly.
The mayor .
There were gasps behind me and I whirled to see that a crowd had gathered at the windows just behind Sharol and I. Whispers of “the mayor” floated throughout as we watched the spectacle unfold in front of us.
The man behind Holt yanked his head up by his curls and I got my first glimpse of his face. He was battered and bruised, his lip busted in two places, both eyes blackened, and he clearly had a broken nose. All those injuries pulled at my heart, but they were surface level.
I can fix that .
What I wasn’t prepared to fix was the knife that appeared seemingly from nowhere and came to rest against his throat.
“NO!” I screamed through the glass and, before I could register that I was moving, I threw open the door and vaulted down the first two steps before I was roughly pulled back by a pair of small but strong hands. “NO!” I yelled again. “Let him GO!”
Holt’s head turned toward where I was standing, his neck grazing across the blade of the knife, leaving a small trail of blood .
“Little Fay,” his voice was a hoarse whisper that I would’ve been able to hear no matter how far away he was. “Stay in the wards, little Fay.”
I struggled against the hands that held me back, lurching and fighting to get to Holt. “Let me GO. Let me go to him!” But the hands just held tighter.
“I warned you, Fay. I warned you. You HAVE to stay in the wards!” Sharol was frantically whispering in my ear, but I heard none of it.
Holt!
I scratched and clawed at Sharol’s hands and arms, my nails dragging lines of red down the endless tattoos of runes on her skin. She hissed as her blood activated one of the runes, but I didn’t have the wherewithal to understand what was happening, or the pain I was putting Sharol through. I continued to fight like a feral cat to get to Holt, and only redoubled my efforts when the man holding his head craned it up even further, a maniacal smile covering his face.
“So you’re the one we’re looking for?” He licked his lips.
Sharol’s grip was iron, but I still felt her tense behind me.
“No, she is not. I am,” Sharol said, her voice loud and strong, but I detected a note of fear beneath it all.
The man holding Holt cocked his head to the side. “I think not.”
“I’m the one she wants, not her. Take me and leave this place, leave these people. Can’t you see they’ve suffered enough?” Sharol was practically shouting as she released me briefly to readjust her grip and gesture to the destruction and death that riddled the streets around us.
I took that moment, that singular second of weakness, to break free from Sharol’s grasp. I wrenched myself out of her arms, her fingers clutching my tunic as I half-fell, half-ran down the remainder of the porch steps.
“No!” the shout came from both Holt and Sharol, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t care.
They have Holt. No one else is going to be taken from me today .
I needed him. His strong presence, his guidance, his love. I may fool myself and everyone else into thinking that I was fine on my own in the woods, and I was, for the most part, but I needed Holt.
Just as I reached the edge of the wards, my hand outstretched to reach for him, a rune on my arm flared and I heard a crack, like that of a whip. One minute I was reaching for Holt, the next I was flying backward. My back hit the bottom step of the inn’s porch and I groaned as the air left my body .
“I told you not to try and leave the wards, Fay.” Sharol was kneeling beside me, her voice quiet in my ear as she helped me into a sitting position.
My eyes met hers, mine full of betrayal, hers of strong resolve. “What . . . what did you do to me?” I asked in a broken whisper.
She was supposed to teach me, help me keep my family safe. Give me something to help people. Not whatever this is.
“I did what I had to.” Her voice was iron.
I wrenched myself away from her, unable to stand her hands on me any longer. “Don’t touch me,” I spat. Sharol simply sat back on her heels, her hands folded in her lap, her eyes watching my every move.
I approached the line of runes more cautiously this time and let my hand trail across the invisible barrier. The rune on my arm glowed but didn’t throw me backward again.
It must only activate when I desire to leave .
“I know that look, Fay,” Holt said, his eyes trained on me. “Don’t try and puzzle it out right now. My life is not worth yours.”
“I disagree,” I said absently as I experimented with the barrier and my rune.
If I changed the rune tied to the barrier slightly, I could nullify my own rune. I softly traced it on my arm as I paced. Or if it senses intentions, do I just change my intention?
The man holding Holt chuckled darkly and it broke me from my reverie.
“Yes, she’s the one we were sent for.”
I stopped pacing and stared at them, the three rebels holding Holt captive.
“An exchange, then? A life for a life?” The man smiled predatorily again.
“I could be bribed.”
I nodded once. “Then we have a deal.”
“Fay, no!” other voices joined Holt’s and Sharol’s as I focused on clearing my mind and changing my intentions.
I need to save these people. I need to protect them. Wards, at their core, were built for protection. I figured that if I changed my intentions to be one of selfless protection, the ward would understand and respond in kind.
I focused on my mantra as I extended my hand to the barrier, and as I met no resistance, I opened my eyes and smiled.
I did it !
Everyone’s eyes on the other side of the barrier were wide, even the blond man had stopped pacing and regarded me with a sort of deep curiosity.
The only one not intrigued was Holt. He looked broken, sad.
“Oh, my little Fay. I wish you would’ve listened,” he whispered, his voice cracking at the end.
I halted my slow progress through the ward, drawn to the only person who had loved me enough to care for me as a child.
“Know that I love you, my girl, but I can’t let this happen. It’s not supposed to happen this way. Not yet.” Tears tracked down his deep-brown skin. I had never seen Holt cry, ever.
Suddenly I saw the crystal on his neck glow a bright white, brighter than I had ever seen. It washed over the entirety of his face, obscuring his expression, but I knew his eyes were still trained on me. With the force of a tornado, Holt blasted me back from the barrier’s edge, the wards suddenly snapping back into place and activating from the onslaught of magic.
I stumbled back, my arm retreating from the barrier’s edge. I tried again to break through, but my mind was too jumbled, my intentions not clear.
“No! Holt!” I screamed, standing as close to the barrier as I dared.
The rebels holding Holt regained their footing after the sudden burst of wind.
The one holding the knife pulled Holt’s head back against his body, the edge now digging into his neck. Blood trailed down his beautiful brown skin, mirroring the tears tracking from his eyes.
“Deal’s off.”
The blond man and I took steps toward Holt at the same time, but it was a futile action.
“I lov—” Holt’s words were cut off as the man dragged the knife slowly across Holt’s throat, pressing so deep he nearly severed his head from his neck. Blood spurted straight from the wound, hissing as it hit the barrier. All the while, Holt’s eyes stayed trained on me.
“NOOO!” My scream came out a broken plea that morphed into intelligible sobbing. “Holt! I love you. I love you. Father! I should’ve told you earlier, I should’ve told you earlier. I love you. Holt, Father,” I blubbered numbly and incoherently as I watched his body fall to the ground, his blood pooling to match the stain of the Librarian’s blood from yesterday. Holt’s eyes were open and unblinking, still staring at me as if I was the world.
My breaths were coming in choked gasps, my body shaking. At some point my legs had given out and I was lying on the ground, facing the only parent I had ever known.
Gone. He’s gone .
I reached my fingers for his, his hand just on the other side of the barrier. I don’t know how long I laid like that.
Minutes.
Hours.
Days.
All that mattered was Holt.
Eventually his blood stilled, congealing on his neck and the stones beneath. The crystal necklace he always wore was tinged a deep red, almost black, from his lifeblood running down his chest.
I decided that, maybe, I would die there, too.
What’s the point. My father is dead. The town is occupied by rebels. My mentor lied to me. Ben is gone, most likely dead. We’re probably all going to die here, anyway.
Nothing was as it seemed anymore.
The sun rose higher in the sky before falling beneath the horizon, the stars and the moon coming out and a wolf howled somewhere in the night.
Still, I lay next to Holt. Memorizing his face, his deep-chocolate eyes. The way his laughter boomed, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. The way pride shone across his face whenever I puzzled through something. The way his arms felt around me. Like I was safe, like I was protected, like I was cherished, like I was wanted, like I was loved .
They will pay, Holt. They will all pay.
The rebels for what they did to him. The blond man for not stepping in to stop the madness. The Warlord and his Mages for creating the conflict in the first place.
Eventually exhaustion overtook me, dragging my eyelids shut against my will and pulling me into a sleep full of terror, blood, and death.