Chapter 37 Evander
Chapter thirty-seven
Evander
Evander’s brain was on fire. The world spun until he thought it might fling him into the ether. A great, glittering bird, its wings such a dark shade of purple as to be practically black, gazed at him.
Raska at last.
Evander wanted to scream, but he swallowed his terror. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of watching him squirm.
“Come for me already?” Evander whispered.
Raska tilted her head, unblinking, unfathomable. She glanced around the room, then back at him.
“Admit you’re impressed, Raska,” Evander said. “I evaded you for five years. You’re not used to that.”
Raska reached her sharp beak toward him.
His ribs ached like they were peeling open.
His head felt like it had been split in two by an ax.
The dusk closed over him. But before Raska touched him, a blinding light blossomed in the air, just over his head.
It grew from a spark to a sunburst, and out of the light flew a bird.
It was a little larger than a dove, its feathers as white as snow.
Raska let out a terrified croak and jumped away, falling into the table and then scraping frantically around on the floor before she dove for the open window. Her body stuck, and her talons left long gashes in the planks. Finally, she broke out and disappeared.
The little bird landed on Evander’s chest and studied him with blue, human-like eyes. Then it touched its small forehead against his.
The blood dripping from Evander’s nose, mouth, and ears dried, and concurrently, the bird’s white feathers darkened, like it was soaking up spilled wine.
The stain started at the tips of its wings, then spread to its shoulders, down its breast, until it was drenched in red.
As its color changed, the bird withered, its neck bending, its body shrinking.
Sickly scabs grew on its beak. By the time its feathers were saturated, it looked half-starved, half-dead.
Flapping its wings, a few mite-eaten feathers wafting to the floor, the bird mounted into the air and flew out of the open window.
Evander drifted into a heavy, painless sleep.
For the first time in five years, Evander awoke without pain.
This was concerning.
His stomach twisted. There was only one explanation for a miracle of this caliber—Valenna had done something desperate.
The room was silent, except for the rain ticking against the window. The lantern had gone out.
“Val?” he called into the darkness. No reply.
Bewildered and disoriented, Evander lay still.
“Val?”
The door burst open and Samara stumbled into the room, her cheeks flushed with excitement.
“I found some!” she shouted. “My father still had a tin hidden in the storeroom!”
The light from the corridor fell upon Evander lying on the bed, his face crusted with dried blood, and the pillow soaked red.
“Stars above!” Samara exclaimed.
Evander sat up, and she shrieked, stumbling into the wall.
“I thought you were dead!” she cried.
“No,” he croaked. “Not yet.”
“Don’t get up! You look terrible!”
“I’m better now,” he said, testing his legs before he stood. They held, and he got up and crossed the room to where his jacket lay draped over a chair. “I need to find Valenna.”
“She took my dragon and went west, but …”
“WEST?” he exclaimed. “Into Sennalaith?”
Samara nodded.
Wavering between anger and terror, Evander strode toward the door, but before he reached it, a concussion shook the floor.
“What was that?” Samara asked.
“Oh, Val,” Evander whispered, looking at the ceiling. “Tell me you didn’t.”
Screams echoed from the village below.
“What’s happening?” Samara cried.
“Come, quickly!” Evander grabbed her hand and ran out of the room, down the corridor, and into the tavern below.
The front door stood open, and the lane outside was in chaos.
Smoke poured out of the windows of the building across the street.
Villagers ran helter-skelter, shrieking as sparks showered from the burning thatch.
Holding Samara’s arm, Evander ran for the back door, meaning to lead her out into the alley behind the building where he could circle around and avoid the street, but she yanked her hand from his.
“My father! His shop!”
“Samara, we need to run!” Evander hissed.
“I have to help!” She whirled around and sprinted out the door.
“SAMARA!” he called, but she was already out of sight. He hesitated, uncertain what to do, then he ran after her.
The street was madness. Too many people, too much darkness. Samara was gone. As Evander fought through the crowd, a dreadnought skimmed the roof of the buildings.
“No,” Evander murmured.
Clay cylinders dropped from the dreadnought’s wings and struck the cobbles, shattering and splattering the shops with oil. Then Evander felt rather than heard the creature inhale.
“RUN! RUN! RUN!” he screamed, diving into the dress shop. Fire poured down from above, shattering the windows. The front of the building was engulfed in flame.
Evander’s stomach soured. The white bird had been a caladrius bird, capable of absorbing evil magic and bearing it away into the sun, where both the magic and the bird burned to ash.
Cadmus owned a Caladrius bird.
Evander knew what Valenna had done. In exchange for his life, she had traded the location of the sanctuary to her father, and he had given her his magical pet.
Crawling on his hands and knees under the smoke, Evander found the back door and moved into the alley behind the shop.
He gained his feet and ran until the air cleared and he could breathe again.
Coughing, his throat stinging, Evander leaned against a wall and pressed his hand to his forehead.
The loud absence of pain frightened him.
Magical healing always comes at a terrible cost, and the cost had been Valenna’s freedom. The cost had been Cobblepine.
Then a shrill cry split the air, and Evander’s chest tightened; a cold sheen of sweat slicked his brow. Battlefield memories he’d locked away rose again like wraiths.
A flock of birds flew over the village. They were larger than herons, graceful and lithe, and their wings pulsed orange, like molten iron.
One by one, they dove, spirals of light.
They plummeted into buildings, blowing them into billows of fire and char.
The concussions rang in Evander’s ears, thumped in his chest. Evander ducked through embers falling like rain, and he didn’t realize he was headed for the apothecary until he reached it.
He stopped outside the door, barely keeping his feet as terrified villagers jostled him.
He wasn’t sure why he had come here instead of running for shelter, but before he could decide what to do, the door crashed open and Samara plowed into him.
Behind her, Lysander crouched in the doorway, shaking.
“Trevelyan!” she cried. “What is happening?”
“Phoenixes,” Evander replied tersely. “Come, we need to find somewhere to hide!”
“You taught us about these!” Samara panted. “The Sennalaith army trains them to dive into buildings or enemy troops, explode into flame, and then respawn and flap away as chicks, returning home until, a month later, they are ready for destruction again.”
“Yes, you’re very bright. Now come!” Evander ordered, pushing her in front of him. “They aim for the buildings. We need to get away from town. Lysander!”
Lysander shook his head. He looked like a frightened colt, ready to bolt.
“COME!” Evander bellowed, taking a step toward him, but before he reached the boy, Ariadne marched out of the smoke and grabbed her son’s shoulder, dragging him to his feet.
“You did this, Trevelyan,” she said. “You …”
A phoenix struck the building next door, and the windows shattered, debris pattering their shoulders.
Ariadne pulled Lysander with her into an alley.
“Lysander! Wait!” Samara called after him, but he didn’t even turn.
Evander grasped Samara’s wrist and guided her down the street.
Phoenixes shrieked; buildings erupted. Evander half-carried Samara through the storm of sparks, making for the lake, but the road was blocked with the charred bones of shops.
Desperate to find shelter, Evander pulled Samara behind him down a dark side street and made for the mountainside.
He spied a hollow where a spring filtered out of the rock.
The water gurgled into a shallow well, overhung by a rock ledge.
Grabbing Samara around the waist, he flung her into the pool, then jumped after her.
He sank up to his chest in the water. Samara struggled to keep her chin above the surface.
“We’re gonna die, Oh, sunbird have mercy, we’re gonna die,” she spluttered.
The explosions thundered closer, coming in quick succession now. The walls shuddered, bits of stone splashing in the well.
Samara’s eyes met Evander’s, and he was struck by how young sixteen is when a child is untouched by war. He had been much older at her age.
He wanted to shake her and say something bracing and Ashkendoric, like “Panic is for the weak!” but he could feel the terror radiating off her, and he realized that wouldn’t help.
What would Valenna do? he asked himself.
She would be gentle. She would demonstrate courage instead of demanding it.
“It’s alright,” Evander said lamely. “We’re safe here.”
It was a lie, but he told it with confidence.
Another explosion, and the water rippled. Samara’s breath whistled, rapid and frantic, but Evander gripped her shoulders. “Breathe with me. Come now …”
“We’re gonna die!” she wailed. “The mountains are going to collapse on us! We’re going to die!”
“No, we’re not. You’re fine,” Evander said.
His heart hammered his ribs like a mallet.
Debris showered them, and his ears rang.
He felt rather than heard the explosions now.
Light burst in his peripheral, and he wrapped his arms around Samara and turned her away from the blast as smoking bits of thatch and stone pattered his back.
“I’ve got you,” Evander soothed. “We’re fine. We’re fine.”
“Stop saying that!” Samara shouted.
A fragment of burning wood landed on Samara’s shoulder, but Evander batted it away before it singed her shirt.
“It’s almost over, now. Breathe,” Evander continued. His mind was alight with fear, and he longed to get out of this place. But he held his nerve. Battles were easier than this helpless waiting.
A shop blew apart not ten paces away. Evander clenched his teeth and counted his breaths, focusing on the acrid air sliding in and out of his nose. Samara curled into a tight ball, hugging herself.
And then, like a tide going out, the chaos faded, leaving behind moans and weeping, and the crackling of burning buildings.