#SMOKE BILLOWS FROM MY SHIPS IN THE HARBOUR. PEOPLE LOOK AT ME LIKE I’M A MONSTER | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lady-byleth · 7 years ago

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@elven-child wanted to read what I wrote last night so here ya go love. Anyone else interested can take a look too xD

Prologue

The streets ran with blood. At least that was what his father had said earlier this morning, but from high up above the city, on the citadel's western wall, Aeron could see only the orange glow of fires and columns of black smoke against the grey clouded sky. The wind carried the shouts of the mob all the way up to him, words melting together into a cacophony of wild noise, underscored by the smell of burning wood and flesh, with a hint of salt from the sea.

Aeron could see the heavy gates between tiers of the city, closed and guarded by heavily armed city guard units, shake and ache under the weight of hundreds of desperate town folk, could see people as small as ants clambering over the iron spiked walls to fall dead onto the cobblestone beyond.

The city was in a panic, Aeron knew, because of an outbreak of the plague that had begun in the former Slave Quarter, now home to the poor and insane. The city guard had locked the entire district down, a quarantine to contain the sickness, but it had spread into the lower tiers regardless. One district after another was shut off from the rest of the city, people trapped inside with an illness no one had expected to cross the sea.

The harbour had been closed immediately. His uncle called it too little, too late.

Directly below Aeron lay the entrance to the Church Quarter – an almost exact replica of the famous Church Quarter of the Imperial Capital –, the Grand Cathedral enthroned at its highest point, with its heavy and ornate gate shut and barricaded. Aeron watched as a mage in pure white robes, flanked by two Captains – their armour glimmering silver in the dim light, blue capes billowing behind them, the Duke's insignia stitched in white into the fabric – marched down Stone Street toward it. Aeron did not know her but when she swung her staff and pushed the people away from the gate with a mighty gust of wind he decided that she was part of the inner Circle.

A breath of awe escaped him and he craned his neck over the wall to catch another glimpse of her as she turned on her heel and marched back toward the Tower, the people at the gate scattering in a new rush of panic. Beside him someone grunted, making Aeron jump. He had thought he was alone.

“Disgusting,” the man said to himself, thick arms crossed over his chest. He was clad in a leather coat, mended more times than Aeron had lived years, and stained with something dark at various places. The sleeves were tugged and laced tightly into sturdy looking gloves of the same colour and quality, and underneath the coat Aeron could see a pair of matching boots, laced up to just below the knee. The man was tall and broad, with a face like granite, skin a warm brown. A gruesome scar peeked out from underneath the patch over his left eye, perhaps a burn scar that crawled across his nose and down his cheek. A great sword was strapped to his back.

Aeron could not say how old he was but he was older than his father, without a doubt. There was grey at his temples and wrinkles at his mouth and dark eye. Those wrinkles deepened as the man looked down at the roaring city. “The Duke should have called us earlier,” he grumbled.

Aeron look up at him, thinking. He had never seen a man this big or dark skinned in this city, at least not naturally dark. Here, when your skin was dark it was so due to dirt making it appear so, and only in the Slave Quarter. He had never seen such style of clothing either, having grown up around finely embroidered silk vests and polished shoes. This man was an enigma, something new and exciting. Especially with that kind of weapon and scar.

So Aeron stared, at everything he could see, curiosity eating him from the inside, until the man directed his attention to him with a sharp “What?”

Aeron was not cowed. He was the son of the Duke, people did what he wanted, were obligated to, and he would not let some stranger intimidate him. “Who are you?” he asked, just as sharply he hoped. The way that one eye narrowed at him he suspected it had worked. The man however did not answer but only shook his head with a disgusted click of his tongue and turned back towards the riots below.

“I said, who are you!” Aeron repeated and stomped his foot. He was the son of the Duke! He would not be ignored!

Behind him someone chuckled and Aeron whirled around, surprised once more. Before him stood another man, younger than the first and not as big but no less tall. Taller even.

He wore a similar ensemble though not quite as worn as his companion's, and his skin was a few shades brighter but not as pale as Aeron was used to. Feathery black hair fell in a short tail over one shoulder and dark eyes twinkled with cruel humour down at Aeron. “Careful boy,” he said, grinning a wicked grin as sharp as the long sword at his hip. “If you don't know who it is you're talking to, you should hold your tongue. Or you might lose it.”

Aeron flushed with anger. Such disrespect. And from some peasant barely older than himself! “How dare you talk to me that way!” he shrieked. “I demand to know who you are!”

The older man snorted. “You make no demands of us, brat,” he said. “You have not the power.”

Aeron seethed. “I am the son of the Duke, you have no right to treat me as you are!”

The newcomer laughed. “Apologies, little Lord,” he said and dropped into a mocking bow. “We did not know who you are. Not that we care.” “How dare you--!”

“How old are you?” the young man interrupted. “What, twelve summers?”

“I am ten and six summers, you buffoon!” Aeron hissed, standing straight and fixing the young man with a haughty look he had learned from his father.

His opposite rolled his eyes. “My mistake, sixteen whole summers!” he drawled. “Then I'm sure you know proper form when addressing someone of higher rank than you, no?”

“Of course I do, it is you who--!” “Then you should know to mind your tongue when in company of the Queen’s Knight Order.”

Aeron froze. The Knight Order? “You do not look like Knights!” he protested.

The older man growled. “Perhaps you should spend less time staring at my scar and pay attention to what you see,” he said and pointed at his back to where the great sword rested in its scabbard. In the scabbard engraved with the Knight Order's burning rose insignia. In gold. A Knight General of the Hunter’s Division.

The younger man bent down to Aeron's ear. “Oh dear,” he whispered and then chuckled like a devil. Aeron stood frozen stiff. No one stood higher in status than the Knight Order, except the Empress herself. Any disrespect towards the Order was disrespect towards the Empress, a misstep that could cost his father dearly. The Empress could have him stripped of his title, could have his family tossed out into the streets to live with the rabble for such an insult.

“I-I...” he stammered. “I beg your pardon, my Lords!” He fell into a deep bow, hands shaking and cold sweat standing on his face. The young man stepped around him and crouched on the dirty flagstone, elbows pressed into his thighs and head in his hands.

“I wonder what the Empress would say if--” “Wynne!” the General barked. Wynne flinched, a sheepish grin on his lips. Then he shrugged. “I'm just having a little fun with him, teaching him a lesson!” he said over his shoulder. The General looked as unamused as Aeron felt, though in a different way. When he narrowed his one eye at Wynne the young man shrugged. “Fine, I won't tease him anymore.”

Aeron blinked. “Tease...” he echoed numbly.

Wynne huffed and straightened. “You are free to go, boy,” he said. “You should probably head to your quarters and pack some essentials, make ready to leave here.”

Aeron straightened, eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Why?”

Now Wynne's cruel eyes became a touch remorseful, and the General sighed before turning away once more, gesturing to Wynne to continue. Wynne glared for just a moment and then deflated. “Because if your father listens to us, the upper city will be evacuated.”

“Evacuated?”

Wynne nodded. “We were called to combat the plague before it could take root here, but the Duke waited too long,” he explained. “We are too late. The city is lost.”

As if to give his words weight a mighty crash echoed through the entire city. Aeron turned around to see the Church Quarter's gate opened and hundreds of people streaming into the higher tiers in a heaving mess of screams and wails.

And behind them, in the light of fires and the rising moon, came the Fallen.

Chapter 1

Edwyn Griffith watched the city burn from the deck of Duke's ship, along with a few other survivors. There were not many, perhaps twenty who had escaped the blood. A few more had taken another ship once they reached the tiny harbour of River Run, where the River Gladwyn met the sea. The ship that would bring them far away from their lost lives, but Wynne and his mentor had boarded the river ferry back to their City.

Knight General Owain Baines stood next to him, face unreadable even as the Grand Cathedral, an almost perfect replica of the cathedral back home, erupted in a flurry of sparks as bright as small suns. Something big burst through the high roof, debris flying in every direction, and even from this distance Wynne could hear the terrible scream of a creature sprung from a nightmare. The sound was monstrous, but with a distinct human note that made it all the worse for it. He shuddered.

“No matter how many times, I'll never get used to seeing this...” he mumbled, the sea breeze tearing the words from his lips.

Owain's hand fell heavily on his shoulder. “You never will,” the old man rumbled. “And that is good. People who feel nothing seeing cities fall...they aren't right, Wynne. Remember that.”

Wynne nodded. He had heard this particular lesson many times before, whenever one of their brothers and sisters was taken to the Forsaken Castle in the mountains. Only those who were beginning to lose themselves, or those who already had, were brought there. It was the final journey for every Knight.

This is the stuff I wrote, which is actually OVER A YEAR OLD and needs to be revised

And this is what I wrote last night, I didn’t look it over yet so watch out for mistakes, a large jump in events and new characters xD

The two of them might have been brothers, their pale hair the same tone of ashen grey and their eyes so bright they were almost silver. But their physique and attire spoke of two vastly different backgrounds.

The taller was broad and strong, muscles enough for strength but not too much for flexibility, and he was clad in the armour of the old Knights Order, the brass marking him as someone of the highest rank. She hadn't seen one of the old ones since the Imperial Knight Order had settled in their city, effectively replacing those serving the Dragon Queen only to die immediately and be replaced by the Queen's knights once more.

The shorter stood well below the shoulders of the first – which was still at least a head taller than Arianna could ever hope to be –, was slender bordering on frail and wore clothing so old and worn it hang limply off his frame like rags, hidden under a too large cloak. The hood rested on the crown of his head, just enough to shadow his pretty face. His long hair spilled down his chest, a few strands falling into his eyes to contrast his companion's neat tail at the nape.

Perhaps getting tired of the scrutiny, the smaller man wrinkled his nose with a truly impressive glare. “What?” he asked sharply, his voice high and soft, with a hint of a rasp as if he didn't use it often.

The knight clicked his tongue and laid a hand on his companion's head, ruffling his hair through the hood. “Mind your manners now,” he said gently, a lilting accent drawing out the words, and with an edge of steel to his voice that made the other huff and pout. Then the man turned to Maaz and Arianna. “Hail and well met, Master Hunters,” he said, putting his right hand over his heart in greeting.

Arianna startled. She hadn't seen this greeting since the collapse of the guild during the height of the Fade. She exchanged a quick look with Maaz, who looked as confused as she felt. Zenobia would want to hear about this.

Maaz was the first to shake himself from his stupor and returned the greeting cautiously. “Hail and well met, Sir Knight,” he said, bowing with his right forearm horizontally over his chest. He kept a close eye on the two strangers and Arianna waited until he had straightened before executing the gesture herself.

The knight looked pleased.

“What brings you so far South?” Arianna asked once she had her eyes on the two again. The taller kept his hands loosely at his sides she noticed, and his body angled slightly in front of the other. A ready stance, and a protective one. He was as wary of them as they were of him, Arianna could tell as much by the way his fingers twitched and his companion slid further behind him. She narrowed her eyes.

“The same as anyone else, I assume,” the taller said with a cautious shrug.

“And what would that be?” Maaz asked.

“A bit of safety and peace,” said the man. Then he sighed. “But it would seem as if there is neither to be had here.” He sounded resigned, almost tired really. As if he had been travelling for too long to have expected anything else. “Is it this way all the way to the sea?” he asked.

Arianna blinked. “Well, no,” she said slowly and winced when a tiny flame of hope flared in the shorter man's bright eyes. “It only gets worse the further you get,” she said and felt immediately sorry. The hope died as soon as it had appeared.

The taller man sighed and looked behind himself. “I'm sorry,” he whispered.

“Shouldn't be surprised,” was the toneless answer, just as quiet. “What about the Imperial Order?” he asked then, raising his voice. “Are they still active?”

Arianna exchanged another quick glance with Maaz before answering. “Yes, they are,” she said. “Their numbers are as large as always. They're just not with the Empire anymore.”

The taller looked pensive then, the shorter annoyed. “What is it?” he asked. “This is good news, Caron!”

Caron bit his lower lip, staring past Arianna and Maaz at the empty street. “I don't know,” he said, shaking his head slowly. “You know I don't agree with this idea.”

The shorter rolled his eyes. “They are knights, you are a knight. They are not with the Empire, we are not the Empire. It's not that complicated.” His tone was teasing.

Caron snorted. “Don't be a brat, Idris” he said fondly.

Arianna watched them carefully. Their names were of Tirasen origin, the same land from which Knight General Owain and Wynne hailed. It was a ways to the North, long known as a stronghold against the Fade, protected by the Dragon Queen's immense power. At least until her disappearance and the King's fall into madness that followed.

It would perhaps explain what these two strangers were doing so far South, looking as travel worn and exhausted as they did, with their clothing mismatched as day and night. They were fleeing their rapidly collapsing home, gathering supplies on the run without time to think. Her heart softened and her guarded stance relaxed.

“Knight or no knight, Empire or not” she began, drawing their attention back to her, “you both look like you could use a hot bath and some food.”

Maaz's head whipped around so fast she worried he might break his neck. “Ari?” he hissed and looked at her as if she had grown not only one but two additional heads when she shrugged. The way the two travellers looked at her was no less incredulous.

She shrugged again. “What, not hungry?”

Caron huffed a startled laugh. “Well sure, but...” he trailed off, looking to Idris for help.

Idris stared as if Arianna had just smacked him with a frying pan. “We're two complete strangers that basically fell at your feet with a low demon attached to our heels and you want to invite us home?” he said slowly, as if talking to a child.

Arianna was amused. “Precisely.”

“Arianna!” Maaz tried again.

Idris ignored him as handily as Arianna ever did. “And all that without even asking who we are?”

“Caron and Idris, correct?” she grinned smugly when Idris blinked and looked back at Caron, now his turn to be at a loss for words.

Arianna raised her hand to forestall any more questions. “Look,” she said, “you're both exhausted. You're filthy, you smell, Idris here looks about ready to collapse.” Now that she said it, she realised it to be true, and she frowned with worry. Caron quickly looked Idris over before his eyes snapped back to Arianna when she continued. “We've had our fair share of refugees over the years, from all corners of the world. Maaz here was one not so long ago!” Maaz threw her a glare. “Oh yes, share my life story with the gigantic strangers. Wonderful idea.”

“Hush, you,” Arianna interrupted him. “This world is not a kind place and it is even less so if we turn weary travellers away at our gates...or at our bakeries...” She waved her hand around to indicate the closed off bakery they stood in front. “Anyway, the point is, humanity needs to work together to survive until we find a way to fight the Fade! And the more people we save, the more chances we get to end this nightmare. More people means more hope.”

Zenobia had told her this long ago, when she had still been a small girl and Zenobia's hair had been less grey. People were hope, and hope was what kept the world from ending completely.

“Hope.” Idris' eyes were glassy as he looked at the cobblestone beneath his worn boots. He repeated the word a few times, as if needing to get used to a new taste. Caron watched him with a sadness in his eyes that tore at Arianna's heart.

“Hasn't been much room for hope in a while, eh?” she asked.

Caron glanced at her with a sad smile as he put an arm around Idris and pulled him against his chest. “No,” was all he said.

Maaz heaved a heavy sigh. “Alright, fine!” he growled. “You've convinced me!” The grin on her face must have been nothing less than smug because Maaz rolled his eyes. “Don't get used to it,” he said. “And you're telling Zenobia you let strangers into the castle.”

Arianna shrugged. “I can live with that. She likes me.”

Maaz made a noise of disgust.

Caron and Idris, as it turned out, were indeed brothers.

Caron was several years older than Idris, a knight with an impressive resume of missions for the Dragon Queen, battles against Fade beasts and even demons under his belt, but instead of overdone pride he only seemed to think of these victories as small drops in an ocean of great evil.

“The more good I did, the more evil seemed to rise to replace what I destroyed,” he said as he helped his brother climb through the ruins of a small chapel. “I killed one small demon, two larger ones would appear on the other side of the kingdom to burn down a forest. There was no winning.”

Maaz listened to him talk with furrowed eyebrows. It all sounded too familiar, as if directly lifted from the journal he had kept during his youth in Sanay. Apparently the entire world lived through what had befallen Sanay, the same darkness flooding the mountains and forests everywhere that had taken the deserts and dry flats he had once called home.

“Terrible,” he said into the quiet between them and when he looked up he caught Idris looking at him with quiet understanding. Maaz only shrugged and turned away, unable to keep himself from thinking that Wynne would find this newcomer quite appealing. The strange colouring and truly mysterious aura would be just what he needed to finally get over Ilya's rejection.

The next thing they learned was that Caron quite obviously adored his little brother to death and bent over backwards to make this last leg of their journey as easy on him as possible. He cleared away rubble, listed him over things Caron couldn't move himself and looked for easier paths whenever he could. All with that deeply fond look in his eyes that made even Maaz melt a little for the two travellers.

Idris, meanwhile, was quiet.

He spoke little, and if he did his voice was breathy and the rasp more pronounced. Once, Maaz caught him leaning slightly against a crumbling wall, his eyes closed and a deep exhaustion etched into his features that had little to do with the confusing path through alleys, over roofs, under rubble and through hidden shortcuts Arianna led them.

Already pale to begin with, Maaz almost didn't notice when Idris grew ashen and stopped responding to Arianna's endless questions about Caron's knighthood with passive looks.

But noticing alone didn't prepare him for the moment Idris suddenly crumbled onto the cobblestone path connecting two watchtowers of the middle wall. Caron was already pushing past him and falling into a crouch before Maaz even truly realised what had happened.

“Oh dear!” Arianna gasped, shaking Maaz from his confusion, and together they moved to flank the brothers in a by now instinctive gesture of protection. “What's wrong?”

Caron didn't react to her question but gently took his brother by the shoulders, pulling him into a kneeling position. “Rhys?”

Idris swallowed dryly, his throat clicking. “I'm here,” he rasped but his eyes were glazed, unfocused. If he was still “here”, then probably not for much longer.

Arianna crouched down beside the brothers, that gentle expression on her face that had first endeared her to Maaz five years ago. “We can't stay here,” she said kindly. “It's too dangerous to stay in one place too long, especially with the sun still up.” The quarter they had been before was well protected but the area they would enter now was almost impossible to keep clear. Walkways and winding alleyways, high buildings with courtyards surrounded by untamed hedges and overgrown fences with hidden gaps. Husks and worse could hide here like mice in a cellar. Their presence alone could attract unwanted attention. “Can he walk?”

Caron glanced at her, looking worried, before turning back to Idris. “Can you walk?” he repeated the question, leaning down to catch light grey eyes with his own.

Maaz thought Idris needed to think this over for a moment but when Caron shook his shoulder roughly he realised Idris was holding onto consciousness by a thread. What was going on?! He could ask once they were moving again. “Can you carry him?”

Caron nodded. “Yes, he doesn't weight much,” he said, reaching into Idris' cloak and unbuckling a sword Maaz hadn't noticed until now, strapping it to his own belt. “How much further?”

Arianna looked around. “See that?” she asked.

Caron's gaze followed her outstretched finger to the main cathedral two levels down from the middle wall, the rose window glinting in the afternoon sunlight. “Yes.”

“That's where we need to go,” she said. “The doors are impossible to breach once closed and the area behind the cathedral is connected to the high bridge that will lead us directly into the castle.” She pointed up to where the massive stone castle – as big and confusing as several castles and fortresses fused together – throned above the rest of the city.

The high bridge, which was barely visible from their vantage point, sat several levels above them. It was impossible to guess the way there even if you knew how to reach it, the high and intricate buildings as well as contorted streets and walkways a knot and tangle of stone that no one could unravel.

“This city is extremely confusing,” Caron growled as he hefted Idris up, one arm behind his back and one under his knees. Idris hadn't quite given up the fight and lay limply against Caron's chest, blinking slowly up at the grey sky.

Maaz snorted. “Damn right it is,” he said. “You can thank you royal family for that.”

A strange look passed over Caron's face that was gone again too fast to decipher. “What do you mean?”

“The first Dragon Queen built this city,” Arianna said. She had moved away to glance over the balustrade, looking straight down to where the next walkway was. Her eyes traced the area carefully and Maaz could tell just by watching her which hiding spots and blind spots she was focusing on and mapping out. “She wanted it to be her capital and built it as confusing as possible. No plans. She hired a few hundred architects and they hired their crews and started building.”

“Sounds...dumb.”

Maaz barked a laugh. “Apparently she wanted to make it as hard as she could for invading forces to reach the castle,” he said. “Can you unlock the tower?” Arianna interrupted and he nodded, catching the key she threw at him, before continuing. “It worked too. Anytime someone tried to attack, they just got lost instead.” He unlocked the heavy wood and iron door and peeked into the staircase beyond. Nothing. Good. He took a torch from the wall and lit it with a whispered word of magic. Caron didn't seem impressed, unfortunately.

“Only problem was,” he said and motioned the others to follow him, “that everyone else got lost too. There were no maps unless the people drew them themselves. It was a mess.”

“Inconvenient,” Caron mumbled. His face was scrunched up with concentration, Idris' unresponsive body now nestled in the crook of his arm, head against his neck and shoulder, as Caron navigated the worn steps carefully. “What did she do?”

Arianna closed the door with a bang and winced. “Whoops.”

“Nice, Ari.”

“Hush!” She glared without heat before turning a warm smile on Caron. Maaz was not jealous. “This was during the Age of War so she waited until there was peace before she moved her people out,” she continued the explanation before trailing off, her eyes locking on Caron's great sword resting in it's sheath on his back. “Is that infused?” she gasped, her hand already moving to touch.

“Ari!” Maaz barked a warning.

Arianna flinched and smiled sheepishly. “Oh, sorry,” she said.

Caron only smiled mildly and shook his head. On his shoulder Idris was apparently still awake enough to snort. “Good taste,” he mumbled. Caron's hand tightened briefly on his knee.

“So anyway,” Arianna returned to topic, ignoring Maaz when he shook his head fondly. They had stopped on the stairs and Arianna now moved past the group, took the torch from Maaz' hand and continued to lead the way. “The first Dragon Queen – what was her name again, I can never remember – led her people out of the city and moved North to where the royal family sits now. The city became abandoned.”

“Not for long though,” Maaz picked up when Arianna shoved the torch back into his hand and busied herself unlocking the door at the bottom of the stairs. This one was always a little hard to move. Old wood, it happened. “Zenobia the First moved in with her exiled knights soon after and claimed the city. You need help there, love?”

“No!”

“Alright. Of course no one wanted exiles to have a city big enough to be its own kingdom so the Dragon Queen began waging war on Zenobia. Fell into her own damn traps.”

Idris chuckled weakly, breaking off into a fit of wet coughs. Caron soothed him gently, whispering sweet nothings to him until he calmed again. “What happened then?”

“That's when the Empire moved in,” Maaz said just as Arianna exclaimed behind him in triumph and pushed the door open with a flourish.

“Nice,” Maaz dead-panned, waving everyone out. “So it ended up a three-way fight between the Exiles, the Dragon Queen and the Empire. In the end, they all agreed to let Zenobia keep the city if she agreed to help protect what's now Tirasen and the Empire from whatever threat should...well, threaten them,” he finished lamely. Arianna giggled.

Caron raised an eyebrow at Maaz's questionable word choice. “I'm guessing it didn't end there?”

“Oh it does, actually.”

“It does?”

“Well, not exactly,” Arianna said slowly. Her hand rested loosely on the hilt of her sword as she led them along the walkway towards a wide set of stairs that would bring them down to the lowest level. Of this area, anyway. There were probably several levels below this, with some secret entrance Maaz didn't know in some alley he didn't care to explore.

Idris coughed again, Caron soothed him again, Maaz was touched by the gentle care against his will again. Damn.

“Zenobia eventually grew tired of being used as a pawn and tried to negotiate release,” Arianna said after a moment. “The Queen let her go without much trouble, but the Emperor...” she trailed off.

“Let me guess,” Caron grumbled. “He did something horrible and forced her to stay?”

“Kidnapped her son and threatened to execute him, actually,” Maaz confirmed.

“Damn,” Idris said.

“Damn indeed,” Caron agreed.

“Zenobia was forced to sign a contract that conscripted her knights into Imperial service,” Maaz said but then put a finger on his lips and made a gesture for them to wait. He thought he'd seen something.

Arianna crowded the brothers against the far wall, her sword in her hand faster than Maaz's eye could follow, and nodded at him to continue. His own long knife was in his hand, and he crouched against the balustrade, slinking along.

Suddenly the almost carefree history lesson – which Idris probably wouldn't remember half of later anyway – was unimportant. The tension crawling along Maaz's back, settling into his shoulders, that was familiar and new all at once.

It was never the same, no matter how many times he faced the same kind of enemy, and when he looked around the corner to see a single Husk slowly meandering down the stairs before him he felt his breath catch.

Husks were shrivelled, dead looking creatures that had once been human until the Fade had sucked the life right out of them. Now they were mindless beasts, hunting the light of life with a ferocity reminiscent of a rabid demon. Only a demon didn't wear your loved one's face when it tore into you.

This Husk was unfamiliar to him however, and so Maaz felt only the smallest spike of revulsion and grief when he sneaked up on the Husk and quickly drew his blade across it's throat.

Cold black blood splattered the worn stones, glistening like the void itself in the warm sunlight. The only sound was the pitiful gurgle of the Husk and the dull thump of a body hitting ground, and then it was quiet.

A few moments later Arianna's lithe form appeared to his right and Caron's tall, broad frame darkened his left. Idris had finally passed out.

“Let's continue the lesson later,” Caron said quietly, his free right hand twitching. His grey eyes roamed over the stairs and the yard beyond, looking for another threat.

“Good idea,” Arianna nodded. “Let's move.”

Quickly but carefully they continued on their way, staying close to the shadows and ducked low to avoid any eyes that might be looking their way. A group of Husks was standing at the other end of the large courtyard, one splashing through the muddy water of a fountain that hadn't been in use since before the Fade had settled on the city. Another was banging it's head against the district gate that had once lead to the markets. Now the bridge that connected these two districts had been abandoned so long it had finally collapsed three years ago.

“How many do you see?” Maaz asked, giving Caron a meaningful look. The man was so tall, he could probably see much better than Arianna should she climb on Maaz's shoulders.

Caron stood up straight behind a gnarled tree and looked around it, surprisingly stealthy for someone his size. “About a dozen,” he said, grimacing. His right hand twitched again and Idris winced as if sensing his brother's nerves. The slight movement made the furrows between Caron's brows deepen but he didn't comment. “Do they usually come together like this?”

Arianna nodded. “They're not unlike pack animals,” she said. “They seem to retain enough knowledge to have a basic understanding of strength in numbers.”

“Does this mean these are all the Husks that are in the area?”

“Most likely,” Maaz said.

Caron nodded and looked around. They were about halfway to the cathedral and the safety that lay beyond. If Maaz squinted, he could see the two guards in the high windows. Caron looked thoughtful between gate and Husks a few times before he looked at Maaz critically.

“What are you thinking?” Arianna asked.

Caron glanced at Idris. “Do you think you can carry him to the gate?” he asked Maaz, a warning in his eyes.

Maaz didn't need to read minds to understand what he meant. “Can I carry him fast enough to get him to safety before the Husks are on us should you fail whatever the crazy thing is you're planning to do?” he drawled. “Probably. He's taller than me. What are you planning?”

Caron shrugged with one shoulder and set Idris down on the grass carefully. He quickly looked him over, checked his pulse and breathing, and then nodded to himself as if confirming something he had known all along. “Take care of him or so help you the Gods.” That was a threat, a clear, dangerous, terrifying threat. This man would allow no harm to his little brother, on pain of death.

Maaz swallowed. He already knew what Caron planned. Arianna, judging by her pale face, did too.

Caron removed himself from the shadows and stepped out into the open with the calm of a man taking a walk, a stark contrast to Maaz frantically heaving Idris onto his back and following Arianna towards the gate.

The Husks had noticed Caron by now. They had stopped what they were doing, turning slowly, as if confused, towards Caron. That his hand was moving up to grab the hilt of his great sword was not something they understood as a threat even as the sound of metal sliding against leather filled the courtyard like a clap of thunder. In fact, it seemed to drive them wild. Suddenly they were running, mouths hanging wide open. Hungry for life.

Maaz gaped as Caron hefted his weapon.

He wielded the great sword one-handed.

Who did that?! Owain didn’t do that!

“Who is that guy?” Arianna gasped, freezing. Maaz had already stopped before she had and if the guards at the gate could see this, he knew they had as well.

The Husks were upon him and Caron wielded his great sword no differently than Arianna wielded her long sword. Except Caron was taller, stronger and more resilient then she was. What he lacked in finesse after so long on the road, he made up with power and his impressive size, the few blows the Husks landed he shrugged off like the touches of flies.

The blade of his sword, flickering golden red with flames – so it really was infused–, arched through the air like the breath of a dragon, cleaving Husks in two and burning those who dared get too close to wailing crisps, setting fire to the dry grass between stones.

As Maaz watched Caron sprang back, raised the sword high over his head and then tore it down, the blade sinking into the ground with a deafening crash and sending waves of fire in every direction.

Husks screeched, skin blackening and the flesh melting off their bones.

Why he had told them to run was beyond Maaz.

It had taken only a few moments and the courtyard was empty except for Maaz, Arianna, the unconscious Idris, dead Husks...and Caron standing tall and proud, clad in brass and smoke and flame.

Neither Maaz nor Arianna would notice until much later that everything, from the history lesson to this display of a Queen's Highest, had completely erased the question of Idris' affliction from their minds. That this had been the plan all along was a realisation for even later.

#my writing

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blackthornings · 8 years ago

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girls your age / nessian

angsty nessian fic! because all my ships might be gone in 3 days and well, this was equal parts fun and heartbreaking to write. enjoy :)

warning: death/rape mentions ; sfw

prompt: “girls your age never mean what they say.”

She takes in a deep breath, her lungs struggling to suck in the cold night air around her as she lies on the grass. The full moon shines overhead, illuminating the night sky that stretches out like an unending song, and she can almost feel Cassian lying next to her, holding her hand, telling her how her hair shines like burnished gold. Grinning with challenge and a gleam in his eyes. The smirk that once filled her very soul with crackling fire now tears at her, shaking her and screaming the words that she has tried so hard to avoid.

Her heart aches. And so she remembers.

Each heartbeat is more wrenching than the last.

She is nine, and her mother smiles down at her, more than a little cold but reeking of elegant charm. Nine-year-old Nesta’s always admired her mother; the haughty, beautiful, cruel face, the laughter that tinkles whenever she’s entertaining one of her many friends. She flits around the chandelier-lit ballroom, trying to be like her mother; her curls are neatly pressed, her luxurious dress swishing around her as she drinks in the party. But what Nesta can’t understand is why none of the grown-ups want to talk to her about anything interesting. They want to know who Nesta will marry, what manner of lord she would like to serve for the rest of her life. When she tells them about her plans to travel the continent and make a name for herself and never, ever be tied to a man unless she loves him with her whole heart, they just shake their heads and smile faintly. That night is the first time she hears those words.

“Girls your age never mean what they say.”

Nesta shivers at the memory, her face glazed. The moonlight pours down, coaxing more pain out of her already shredded heart.

In the next memory, she is seventeen and starving, the ache in her stomach only adding fuel to the rage that her father can’t work other than useless wood carvings and the little money they have left is already running out. Fire roars through her head, consuming all other thoughts or sense of self-preservation; her rage is a monster living in her chest, beating and pounding as she snaps properly for the first time. Her father doesn’t even react properly or try to argue as the screams tear themselves from her chest, accusing him, voicing all of the hate-filled thoughts that she’s harboured for so long. And when she finishes, he only says, in a voice that is broken and pathetic,

“Girls your age never mean what they say.”

The next one is short and makes her want to vomit up her guts, but at least it’s not the memories of Elain or Cassian -

Tomas’ eyes shine through the gloom in the bedroom, predatory and gleaming in a way that makes Nesta sick and afraid. He leans in to kiss her, as he’s done a thousand times, but what he does next, she never saw coming.

His hands reach for her body, touching places where she does not want to be touched, every brush of his fingers like stinging nettles, and her eyes widen with panic and fear. She has to get him off her -

She tries to push him off. “Tomas, no. I’m not ready.”

But his hands become rougher, more insistent, gripping her wrist hard enough to bruise, and the fire in her threatens to burn down the world as he says in a voice that is low and ragged and makes her want to run,

“Girls your age never mean what they say.”

No - she doesn’t want to remember the next one, doesn’t want to see that face she loves more than anything else in the world -

Elain frowns at Nesta softly, the expression like a whiff of smoke clouding her perfect, gentle face.

“What do you mean, you’re not finishing the season?” she says, her voice as light as a spring breeze. Nesta wants to tell her then, wants to tell her everything she knows: about Feyre being taken, but something makes her pause. She loves Elain too much, will always be protecting her. And Elain is so happy, wreathed in the light shining through the emerald-roofed manor’s windows, clothed in a luxurious cobalt dress, a bunch of flowers clasped in her hands from the garden. Nesta can’t bring herself to shatter that happiness. So she just puts on her least brooding face, and gives Elain as vague an answer as possible.

Then a sad smile from Elain, who places a dove-like hand on Nesta’s shoulder.

“Girls your age never mean what they say.”

Nesta’s emotion is a chasm, and she throws herself into the abyss as the next memory comes; it’s the only way to save her from madness, because it’s so painful to see the next one. Her chest is being ripped open...

No - no. She is screaming now, and the sound echoes through the graveyard where she is lying. Don’t make me remember, she begs to nobody and everyone.

The only people to hear her are the dead, and they cannot stop the images that pour into her.

Cassian is grinning, his hair disheveled. She cups his face in her hands and kisses him thoroughly, deeply, taking in the beautiful lines of his face, the heat of his body, the gleam of challenge in his eyes.

She has loved him for a long time now, the fire in her dancing in the heat that emanates from his very soul; she has never felt happier, more alive than she does now, in Cassian’s arms. Her love is something that could make the world collapse.

So she smiles, a real, genuine smile that has Cassian looking at her in what seems like awe. And she feels the sunlight streaking through the darkness that she’s kept in her chest for so long.

No, no, no -

Anything but this -

Cassiancassiancassian

She brushes back his hair. “I love you,” she murmurs. It’s the first time he ever hears her say it.

But her heart shatters as he says,

“Girls your age never mean what they say.”

He’s joking, of course, she can see that in the laughter that twinkles in his eyes. But he doesn’t know how deep and true those words strike, awakening something in her that churns like stormy waters and makes fire spring from her touch.

He jumps back, his skin singed, and looks at her with such unfathomable hurt in his eyes for a second.

“Ness,” he says quietly. “I was joking. I love you too.”

And that should be enough, but for Nesta’s tortured soul of ash and embers, it isn’t. She looks him in the eye for one second - an apology, and a confirmation, and now, she knows, lying in the graveyard, a goodbye - and runs out the door.

She’s made it as far as the Sidra river, her legs fueled by the hurt that glows within her, when the feeling hits her.

Like ink dropped in water. Her eyes rise to the horizon, and there, wings dark and gruesome against the bruised sunset sky, is a legion of Hybern soldiers. The barrage of emotions that wave over her are like terrifying, but then all-consuming as she watches.

As she watches a sole winged figure shoot into the air, Illyrian wings spread wide and shining in the sunset, siphons gleaming like portals to another world, gleaming red like fire.

And as Nesta sounds the alarm and runs towards where he is holding the shield, her feet flying over the cobbled stones, she begs for help to come, roars with all the heat inside her burning chest.

The Hybern soldiers break through Cassian’s glowing red shield, and unable to stop herself, Nesta howls as one hurtles for him. She feels heat thrum in her fingertips and shoots a bundle of fire towards them.

The Hybern soldier is decimated, the ashes of his remains falling to the ground like snow, and Nesta feels triumph as Cassian turns to her for a split second; even from the ground, she can see his grin, appraising and cocky and challenging. Her heart thunders in his chest, and she smirks back, but it’s short-lived.

Her smile is wiped off her face as, in the split second he had used to look at her, a soldier plunges an ash arrow deep in Cassian’s heart.

And then those glorious, iridescent wings go slack, and she is watching him tumble to the ground, blood spilling from his chest, far too much blood, and he can’t be dead, she just saved his life, but then he is closer and closer to the ground, his face ashen as he turns to her one last time and mouths “I love-”

Nesta’s heart stops as he hits the ground with a sickening thud.

His wings are splayed, his arms bent into an unnatural position, blood drowning his already lifeless eyes, smeared over the pretty pastel cobblestones. She knows he is gone, knows that there is no coming back.

Knows that there is no coming back for her either.

And then it doesn’t matter how old she is, or whether she is a girl or a boy or a Cauldron-damned demon as she screams at the soldier-filled sky, because she means what she says more than anything she has ever said. For all she is, all she has become, all she has lost, after losing so much.

And her power screams with her, as flame billows in the skies, replacing the brooding clouds with pillars of orange and red and yellow, roaring, illuminating the city below, the mountains around, a beacon across the whole rutting world. She doesn’t care anymore as she becomes the fire that erupts from her very soul, incinerating those soldiers in mere moments.

She sobs as she dashes through the smoky air and the black snow to Cassian, her tears mingling with the ash that litters the atmosphere and the sweat that trickles down her back. The fire still rages above her, a manifestation of the torment in her heart as she falls to her knees on the blood-soaked floor. Forgets to breathe. Pushes back the singed hair to look at the face she hates and loves so deeply and kisses his cold, dead lips one last time.

Her heat magic courses through him and for a second she is hopeful as his lips warm and move in response. But all that happens is his head flops back to the ground, limp and broken, and she is just a wailing girl surrounded by ashes and smoke as the fire above sputters out and tears not of salt water, but of crackling, scalding power, vicious as the sun that can’t pierce through the darkness in the streets of Velaris.

And now Nesta is curled up under the unforgiving moon. She turns over, that all-consuming fire finally gone, burnt out, leaving nothing but a hollow chest and a messy-haired girl lying next to the grave of her dead lover. She doesn’t even have the heat in her any more to make the world suffer as acutely ash she had. No, all she has now is these memories and a soul stained with ash.

Her voice, a rasp in the silence of the graveyard, surprises her when she speaks.

“I will never be able to live with myself. Not without you.” Her voice is hollow, defeated.

But she feels a brush on her arm, feather-light, and he is sitting next to her, a figment of the silvery light, heartbreakingly beautiful as he puts his mouth close to her ear as he whispers,

“Girls your age never mean what they say.”

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floraexplorer · 5 years ago

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Celebrating Summer at Estonia’s Ancient Bonfire Festival

On Kihnu island, the Night of Ancient Bonfires is just beginning.

We stand on the sand, watching a modest group of Estonian musicians in traditional dress as they play a jaunty tune on accordions and guitars. Above us is a beautiful hazy summer dusk sky – although the soft pastel colours aren’t distraction enough from the mosquitos which buzz through the air and nip at our skin.

I look across the stacked-up pile of wood in the centre of this little gathering, past the scarf-covered heads bent in quiet conversation. The ocean water is strangely calm: it’s so close to us, yet it doesn’t make a sound.

Where exactly is Kihnu island, and why are we here?

It’s the end of summer and I’m spending the night on Kihnu island, a tiny stretch of land about an hour’s ferry ride from the Estonian mainland. Kihnu is home to a small, conservative population of about 400 Estonians – and it’s also famous for being one of the world’s last matriarchal societies.

Throughout the centuries, the Kihnu men have spent their lives at sea: catching fish, hunting seals and sailing ships filled with produce to trade and sell. Their absence left the Kihnu women responsible not just for caring for their homes and children, but also for running the farms, raising the animals, governing the island and maintaining its cultural traditions – everything from wedding ceremonies to knitted handicrafts to folk festivals.

One such festival is the Night of Ancient Lights.

Held on the last Saturday of August each year, people gather at Kihnu’s coastline to light a bonfire. From the soft sands, it’s just about possible to see tiny flickering dots on the horizon; the location of other fires burning on the Estonian mainland.

But the Night of Ancient Lights isn’t just a Kihnu festival – or even just in Estonia. It’s actually a recently resurrected folk tradition which is now celebrated by all the countries surrounding the Baltic Sea.

What is ‘The Night of Ancient Lights’ all about?

The Night of Ancient Lights (also known as the Night of Ancient Bonfires) harks back to the Viking era, when signalling fires were lit to communicate with those on neighbouring shores and to guide sailors home from sea. Although those constantly burning signal fires have long been replaced by lighthouses and radio communication, the sea still unites everyone – especially the coastal communities of the Baltics.

In 1992, two friends in Finland decided to resurrect the old fire-lighting tradition to celebrate the end of summer (it was also Finland’s 75th anniversary of independence) and neighbouring countries followed suit: Estonia first lit their fires in 2009 and have done so every year since.

Read more: the 800 year old village festival of Cesis, Latvia

Nowadays this annual festival helps to promote unity among the Baltic nations and farther afield: the global map shows fires being lit throughout Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania, across to Finland and Sweden, and even as far as the USA. It’s also a chance to create awareness about the sea’s importance for these countries and the fragility of the coastline’s ecology.

At its heart though, these bonfires create the perfect setting for people to gather together and say goodbye to summer for another year, creating a new tradition for themselves while also preserving the ancient cultural traditions of their ancestors.

Time to experience a traditional Estonian festival!

At 8.30pm on the last Saturday in August, Kim and I cycled our rental bikes through forests filled with impossibly tall pine trees.

We were late.

A variety of plates filled with fried deliciousness – black bread with garlic cheese sauce, hot baked dumplings and fresh fish – had delayed our arrival at the bonfires. Now we had to pedal so fast that when I heard the wind whistling past my ears, I thought it was mosquitos.

When we reached the Kihnu shore line, significantly out of breath, that whistling became a reality. Dozens of hungry mosquitos zipped around our heads as we parked our bikes beside the harbour’s lone street light and walked towards the small crowd gathered by the water’s edge.

I could hear the faint strains of music. Estonia’s bonfire night had already begun.

We’d spent the day learning about Kihnu’s female-led society, and now their traditional customs were a visible reality. Everywhere I looked, Kihnu women of every age wore their colourful striped skirts, from the middle-aged to teenagers, young girls and even a tiny baby (who even sported a handmade traditional bonnet too).

As the musicians ceased playing we found a place to sit, on a log bench just beside the still-unlit bonfire. The sound of bagpipes announced a troupe of performers, who made their way through the crowd to stand beside the long grass.

Read more: traditions & superstitions at the witches market in Bolivia

This group of four young Estonians, dressed all in black and draped with furs, were jarringly different to the traditional Kihnu outfits around them. It made sense, then, that I’d imagined a performance which spoke to the strange atmosphere settling on this traditional gathering – but I was completely wrong.

Instead, the troupe launched into something akin to pantomime – but as it was all in Estonian, we didn’t understand a word. Thanks to the hand gestures, sound effects, musical accompaniment and a lot of laughter from the crowd, we got the impression that they were telling stories about pirates, kings, babies and gruesome murders. Possibly. It was hard to tell.

Nonetheless, they put on a fascinatingly bizarre performance which continued for almost an hour. Meanwhile the light grew darker around us and the drum commenced a slow beat, barely noticeable at first but growing steadily louder. I watched the sky fade from pink to purple to deep blueish red – and then it was night.

Lighting bonfires on the beach

Two men came forward with flares already burning, thrusting them straight into the base of the wood pile. The bright red light strengthened and billowing clouds of smoke erupted from the bonfire as a hush descended around us.

As a group of men in striped shirts began to sing a low, haunting melody, I looked at the faces of the Estonian children around me. Their wide eyes reflected the flames and sparks which danced upwards into the night sky. In the stillness, the crackling wood sounded almost like applause.

Eventually the heat of the fire grew so hot that we had to back off. We made our way to the open doors of a little hall with people sitting outside together, chatting, laughing and drinking beers. Inside the hall we spotted a young guy with dreadlocks who’d been sitting close to us and speaking English to his friends, so we asked him to explain what the performance had been about.

“Ah!” he said brightly, “It’s all about the history of the island – the sailors, the stories. And look –” he pointed across the water to a tiny pinprick of light on the barely visible horizon line. “You can see the fires on the mainland too.”

Connected by the sea: where fire meets water

I’m becoming increasingly fascinated by cultural traditions: the ancient rituals which communities have continued to uphold over generations, and the beliefs which are in danger of becoming lost. Marking the annual cycles each year is perhaps the oldest tradition of all. It’s something which cultures across the world have continued to do since history began.

Estonia has plenty of bonfire-based folk celebrations — in particularly Jaaniõhtu (Midsummer’s Eve) on 23rd June, and Jaanipäev (St John’s Day or Midsummer’s Day) on 24th June. On the longest day of the year, fishing boats are set alight and Estonian people spend all night leaping over fires to celebrate the summer solstice.

Yet the Night of Ancient Bonfires marks the end of the summer, allowing people to welcome in the darker half of the year. Perhaps it’s less celebrative and more thoughtful: a chance to reflect on the connections which help us through the winter months.

I imagine what this chain of fires look like from the sky. Knowing that thousands of bonfires have been lit tonight – knowing there are thousands of people encircling them, watching the flames – it’s a beautifully strange thought. Even if I can’t see them, I can still feel this sense of connection stretching far across the coastline.

We left the Kihnu locals dancing together beneath a ceiling filled with blue and purple fairy lights. Outside the hall and beyond the bonfire, the air felt suddenly crisp and cold: the start of autumn.

Under clean skies and an unending expanse of stars, we boarded our bikes again and headed off into the night.

Read what happened next on our Kihnu island adventure…

Pin this article if you enjoyed it!

Disclaimer: my trip to Kihnu Estonia was in partnership with Visit Estonia,but being late to the bonfires was all our own doing.

The post Celebrating Summer at Estonia’s Ancient Bonfire Festival appeared first on Flora The Explorer.

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