40 The River
The River
The boat rocked them gently as they rested at its base, the thin tarp shielding them from unfriendly eyes.
Smoke clung to the dog's fur, his warmth seeping into her as she curled around his giant form.
They lay like that, listening to the rush of water beneath them, feeling each bump and turn as the river carried them south.
After a time, they fell asleep, their breathing shallow and dreams restless. She woke more than once to find the tarp still cold and dark above, the shadow of night not yet passed.
Every so often, faint noises prowled along the riverbank, things that followed their little rowboat for a time before melting back into the night. All the while, they lay still but for the shallow rise and fall of their breaths, and their blinking eyes.
Vaelira awoke to warmth on her face. The tarp had been folded back, leaving only her feet covered. Orphi sat at the end of the skiff, nose pointed south. The sun climbed steadily to his left in the clear morning sky, gilding the edges of his fur in gold.
She stretched, letting the night’s tight grip ease from her chest, and peered over the lip of the boat. Behind them, the forest stretched north, and ahead, the river widened into a broad lake. In the distance, smoke curled skyward.
She had no money, no food, no possessions other than her borrowed clothes, sword, and dagger, but hoped edged in, if only hesitantly.
As the skiff slowed, her hope vanished, and what was left of Meer emerged. The town’s wooden walls lay in splintered heaps, revealing the charred skeletons of buildings. The air carried the tang of burnt timber. Smoke drifted north on the breeze.
The boat idled in the slow current, and Vaelira took up the paddles, dipping them into the water and edging closer to the dock. An old man sat at its end, legs dangling, a pipe hanging lazily from his mouth. As they approached, his grey eyes found hers. Orphi’s tail wagged gently.
She tossed him the rope, and it smacked the wood beside him. He turned slowly, looping it loosely around a wooden post. The skiff drifted past the man before it jerked to a stop, the rope going taut.
“Nothin’ here for you, m’dear,” he said at last, removing the pipe.
“What happened?” she said softly, afraid of startling him into silence.
“Raiders first. Demons after.”
Her gaze went back to the town. “Is anyone left?”
He shook his head.
“You can come with me,” she offered. “The boat is small, but it’s safer with company. We could find you a horse. You could make your way to Anhaven.” It was the plan she’d considered for herself, but her answers didn’t lie east. Not anymore.
The man's smile was small and sad, transforming his lined face. “Nothin’ left for me in this world but one last sunset.” His eyes went to the ridgeline as he unfastened the rope, tossing it back to her.
Morning transformed into a sweltering afternoon. Soon they found themselves in a fast current, the western fork meeting their own, sending their little skiff hurtling south.
Vaelira had to guess when to moor the boat. She had studied some maps of Eastvale but certainly didn’t know enough about river travel to make a precise estimate. She eyed a sharp bend that swung out east and decided now was as good a time as any.
Vaelira turned to Orphi, grabbing the rope between her teeth to demonstrate what she needed him to do. He watched her, then opened his mouth, took the rope and clamped down hard. She guided the boat towards the bank and told him to jump.
Miraculously, he seemed to understand, keeping the rope tight between his teeth as he landed on the grassy bank, staggering before pulling the boat to a stop. Vaelira clambered after him, sword in hand. One nod and Orphi released the rope, the current claiming the boat and sweeping it out of sight.
The trek west passed without trouble. Orphi helped her catch game, and they found shelter each night under thickets or simply leaning against trees.
She slept little, but whenever she woke, Orphi was there, alert and watching the dark.
She didn’t know when he’d become her protector, and she didn’t question it. She didn’t have the energy to.
Two days after leaving the river, smoke rose on the skyline to the south.
Was there anywhere left in Eastvale still standing? She had to believe Anhaven was. If she let herself think otherwise, she would turn straight around, and that wasn’t an option.
They reached the southern end of the mountain range as the last rays dipped below the horizon.
The land dropped away on their left, leaving a narrow path of shrub-dotted rock between the ocean and mountain.
A lizard skittered beneath one of the blackberry bushes that grew in tangled masses among the overgrowth.
It grew dark quicker than she had expected, and they were forced to stop. Waves crashed against the cliff face below, the sound a bitter-sweet comfort, lulling Vaelira into sleep. When she awoke, it was still dark. Orphi sat at her side, alert, but calm. She sat up, leaning against the rock wall.
“Get some rest, boy.”
She sat with one hand draped over Orphi’s side, feeling his breaths slow as he drifted into sleep.
The shadow of the mountain loomed at her back.
It should have a name, she thought. The last mountain of its range, the last line of defence against the Great Fire. She looked west, as if she would see fire raging there, but there was only endless black night.
The waves seemed to roar louder in her ears. Tomorrow, she would be leaving Eastvale, leaving behind everyone she knew, everyone she loved. Tears slipped down her cheeks, and she wiped them away furiously, squeezing her eyes tight as if it would keep her grief at bay.
Had Axel and Willem found the others, or were their bodies lying broken in the streets of Caerthalyn? She should have insisted they come with her. Instead, she had fled like a coward, leaving them to fight the battle, to face the horde of demons without her.
And Elijah… had he sent out the guard, or protected only himself and the nobles, leaving the rest of the city to burn while they escaped?
Would he even need to escape? Maybe the demons would be able to sense their master lurking inside him.
Knowing Elijah, he’d use that to his advantage.
Her hand balled into a fist, power thrumming hot.
Axel, Willem, Erryn, Ressa, Fang… Freya. Their faces flashed in her mind and a sob tore through her throat. What had she done?
She spent the rest of the night arguing with herself.
In the end, she came to the same conclusion Willem had somehow managed in the heat of battle.
This was bigger than her, than her friends.
If she didn’t end this once and for all, there would be no one left to live for.
The horde she had faced atop the broken city wall was only a taste of what would be unleashed if the Abyss was split open.
She would not allow that to happen.
Not long after they had set off the next day, the air grew dry and hot, the ground turning hard and unyielding underfoot. Ahead, the black silhouettes of crumbling towers rose from the plain, their shadows reaching towards her like beckoning fingers, inviting her to take shelter within.
Noormoor had been the last village to fall to the Great Fire.
Most of its inhabitants would have had time to flee behind the safety of the mountains, but the buildings, the homes, had been reduced to ruins.
What awaited her in the Wastelands, if this was the kind of destruction the last, and weakest, of the fire had wrought?
She chose a roofless stone building for a shelter, only four jagged walls and an empty arch for a doorway.
She lit a fire with a flick of her wrist, the wood snapping in the quiet night.
Wind rustled through dry brush, as if the town were bristling at the insult of fire within its walls.
She sighed and lay back beneath the stars.
When she woke, the sun blazed high overhead. Orphi stood next to her, barking mutely at something behind her. She tensed and turned slowly.
Atop the archway, a man lounged against the stone, one leg bent, the other dangling idly off the narrow ledge. He whistled a bright tune as he twirled a pale-hilted dagger between his fingertips. He glanced down, stopping his song short as his icy gaze met hers.
“I know you,” he said slowly, running a hand idly over his almost-white hair. It was cropped short to his scalp, stark against his sun-tanned skin.
Vaelira stood, power sparking faintly in her palms.
He watched her, his lips pursed as though in deep thought. He raised a finger. “I never forget a pretty face,” his bright eyes flicked to her father’s sword by the fire, “or a pretty blade. Foolish not to take it.”
“I don’t need it.” A spark lit in her hand.
His eyes narrowed and he laughed, the sound barely more than a breath. “Take her.”
Hands yanked her arms behind her back. She reached for her power, but it guttered and died as metal bound her wrists. She twisted, but more hands gripped her. Orphi thrashed as a rope was cinched tight around his neck.
Her breath faded to shallow gasps as she reached again, but there was nothing there.
No.
No.
No.
She looked around frantically, searching desperately for anything to stop them, but all she saw were the people restraining her, their lower faces hidden by light fabrics, hoods pulled over their heads.
Wasteland raiders. Demoncursed.
One of them pulled the golden dagger from her belt and another lifted her sword.
The raider dropped from the archway and landed in a smooth crouch, straightening as he stalked towards her. “You’ve got fast hands,” he said pulling up his hood, his icy-blue eyes gleaming from the shadows beneath, “but we’re faster.”
He held out his hand, and a spear was passed forward. He slung it on his back, the curved twin blades glinting menacingly over his shoulder.
Vaelira’s anger surged, but no flame met it.
She recognised the man at the same moment pain slammed into the back of her skull.
It was the raider who had ambushed them on the road to Allen. The one who had stolen Jon’s dagger.
Darkness embraced her like an old friend.