Threads

“This is a waste of time, they won’t see us and they have no reason to help us,” Brandon scowled and cast an angry look at the entrance to the temple. “This nonsense of threads and tapestry, you know it’s not real don’t you? All foolishness from the time before.”

Penolina closed her eyes, struggling to bring her emotions under control. They’d already been through this argument, several times if the truth be told, yet here they were again thanks to the words he’d heard time and again from their uncle. “They will. They have to. It’s part of the old laws and since the Raiders were thrown out of the system, the old laws are now adhered to once more.” Old laws, they had both been born after the Raiders had taken control. Now, with the Queen back in place on Chronos, the temples were open again, the laws back in place and they had a place to take their problems. “Everything changed when we regained control of our world. The Queen…”

“Is on Chronos.”

“Yes, but she brought back the old ways.” With a few minor tweaks but they were still, according to many she’d spoken with, in the spirit of the laws that had governed their world before the invasion. “Those laws give us a chance to seek help, something he has no right to deny us.” Though he had tried his best.

“It won’t help. He’ll have been here and spoken against us. I mean, we’re kids and…”

“We won’t be soon, which is why we need to speak out now.” Within two months she would be of age, and he would follow suit within fifteen months. “Once we’re eighteen we have the right to see to our own holdings. The temple is the only hope we have without going to the capitol and you know he’ll never release enough money to allow us to travel that far.” She nodded at the white stone building with its heavy black doors. “He wouldn’t think that we know about this option. Why would he? It’s only recently that such information has been taught in the schools again.” Schools they had been pulled from not long after the Raiders had left. An attempt to keep them ignorant of the changes that were occurring all around them?

What else could it have been?

The man was intelligent, she’d never denied that, but his motives… she shuddered at the thought.

“Fine, but when they laugh at us don’t expect me to take it well, sister mine.” Brandon grumbled and ran a hand through his sandy hair. “It will only be worse when we return home and Uncle Jacob is waiting for us.”

“They won’t laugh.” Please let me be right, please goddess let your servants listen to us and aid us. Was it a formal prayer? She didn’t know, that knowledge had also been denied them. What little she’d been able to find out had been through quick talks with older men and women and stolen knowledge from other sources. Even the servants at home were wary about sharing information with them, knowing if they were caught then they would be out of work.

It would have been, she believed, different in the capitol. Here the families, and through them the heads of families, held sway over the small communities. If you were let go from service to a family, without a reference, the odds of finding decent work without moving away from the area, were slim at best. It was a harsh, cruel way of existing, one that Penolina had never agreed with.

She grasped her brother’s hand and smiled. He was taller than she was, and hadn’t yet reached his full height, yet he would always be her little brother. “We can do this, have faith in yourself, in us. We’re stronger together than he has ever been willing to accept and that is to our advantage.”

He looked down at their linked hands even as his shoulders slumped. “Let’s get this over and done with.”

He didn’t believe her, didn’t want to have faith in what they were about to do and she knew why. If it didn’t work, if they were turned away or worse, reported to their uncle, then their lives would become a living nightmare. He would separate them as a means of punishment, keep them apart until they were adults, but then what?

As adults he couldn’t control them, not in the same way, unless they failed to grasp their power and make use of it before he found a way to strip it from them. Any attempts that Brandon had, quietly, made to find out more about the changes ahead of them, had been met with subtle dismissals and changes in topic. She, of course, hadn’t approached Jacob directly. Her careful probing questions from those who had been in service with the family since before the invasion, had revealed just how little the siblings had been taught about their rights.

It was one thing to have rights and protections, it was another to know they existed so you could actually use them - and Jacob had taken steps from the very beginning to prevent them from learning about their family, the history of their holdings and then the return of the old laws of inheritance.

He will have us signed into service somewhere. Maybe the temple for me, and military service for Brandon? No, not the temple, but a marriage I want nothing to do with? What will happen when I fight such a marriage? Will he kill me or find another way to silence me? Could he simply kill me off and be done with me?

No, he didn’t have that power anymore. Not with the change in laws, but did he know that? More importantly, did he accept it?

Yes, of course he knew and refused to accept the change in laws. His true power rested in the understanding that the siblings remained ignorant.

They paused at the base of the steps. For years the white stone had been left untended, those in service to the temple had kept to the shadows knowing that their lives were in danger if they made themselves known. The stories of the invasion were still a part of living memory for many, and she recalled more than one priest or priestess dragged out of hiding to face punishment.

Death.

She shuddered at the memory of the one execution she had been forced to witness. A middle-aged man with wild hair and sorrow filled eyes. He’d screamed, oh by the gods how he’d screamed. It hadn’t been a quick death, no such mercy had been granted him and she, like all of the others commanded to stand through the event, had heard every blow, each cry and the final announcement that life had been extinguished.

How many others had died in other communities and cities around the planet? Had the same horrible fates befallen those of the Orders on the other four homeworlds? Chronos, she knew from stories, had suffered terribly beneath the yoke of the Raiders. Gaea and Thanatos had survived but it had not been an easy thing. Mars had fought, every step of the way, but they were a warrior people born and raised. The Raiders had controlled the system but Mars, out of all of them, had defied them.

A small door, within the left hand side of the large double doors, opened before they reached it and a man in a white robe stepped out into view. The cowl covered his features in shadows, his hands hidden within the sleeves but somehow she knew he was looking at them, observing their approach in silent patience.

“We could turn away, no one would say a word about it.” Brandon leaned in, his voice a low whisper.

“No, we’re going to do this.” She tightened her grasp on his hand.

“But…”

“Welcome, enter and ask, we are here to help those who serve our Lady of Fate. She of the spinning wheel, loom and shears.” The priest stepped aside, lifting his right hand to bid them enter. “All are welcome here as long as they enter in peace and respect our Lady.” His voice was calm, warm and welcoming, not at all what she thought a priest would sound like.

He’s a man, just like any other man.

Young, by the sound of the voice, or at least not old. His face was still hidden by the cowl but his hand lacked the wrinkles that might come with age, nor did she see any sign of liver spots. Not that age mattered, but there was something about his voice that pulled at her.

“Thank you,” she murmured and glanced back at her brother. “We’ll be safe here, I promise you that. They won’t hurt us.” Let him believe me.  If he didn’t, she’d find a way to calm him down, but if she was wrong about the situation, about how they would be treated, then - well, she didn’t know what she would do.

“Your sister is right, young lord. You are most welcome here and you will be safe among us.” The priest followed them into the temple, pulling the door closed behind them.

Darkness consumed them and her heart skipped a beat in the moment before a dozen soft lights flickered into life ahead of them. She blinked adjusting to the change in illumination, thankful for the gentle glow offered by the candles. Few places used candles or lamps these days, why would they need to when power was so easy to use. Yet the temple was old, predating the time of power lines. Now, of course, technology kept most things hidden out of the way, but with buildings like the temple would it be easy to lay the lines needed to bring the power into the building?

“We use the older methods out of respect to those who built the temple, though there are small modern lights offered in some of the offices. Those are, of course, seldom used. We keep them only for visitors who would be ill at ease with candles or oil lamps.”

She frowned at the words, trying to think of who might have a problem with candles. Perhaps those who were unable to move without assistance? The lack of light might make it difficult to see where they could put their feet, or use their mobility devices. She nibbled on the inside of her lip as they followed the priest further into the temple.

“We are here for…”

“Wait, you will be able to explain once the senior priestess is able to speak with you.” The man looked back over his shoulder, his smile warm and genuine. “She may, of course, already know what the issue is and have answers waiting for you.”

She swallowed hard and looked away. Of course, she should have remembered that from the little she had read about the temple.

“How could she know?” Brandon pressed.

“Because she is the priestess. Our Lady Fate may have shared that information with her, it happens from time to time.” The priest shrugged. “I am, I’m afraid, still in the middle stages of my training so it will be some time before such information may be shared with me.”

May? “Thank you, we - we’ve not been well taught about the functions of the temple or the way you serve.” Penolina admitted and squeezed her brother’s hand.

“That, sadly, is not uncommon, though we are working with the schools once more and our doors are open to all who might seek answers.” The priest stopped by a simple door and looked back at them. “Are you ready?”

Brandon tugged on her hand. “We should leave.”

“No, we shouldn’t. He will know we have come here. If we leave we place ourselves back in his grasp and you know he will have no mercy to show us.” Brandon would be safer than she would be as their uncle had fallen under the sway of the raiders. At least that was the impression she had gained in meeting and talking with others of their age range in the past six months.

“He won’t hurt…” Brandon’s words trailed off. “He would - wouldn’t he?”

“Yes.”

Brandon pulled his hand free. “No, I don’t want to hear that, don’t want to believe it.”

It didn’t matter what her brother wanted, the truth was undeniable. He’d been sheltered, in many ways, but she hadn’t. Their uncle had embraced the Raider’s beliefs of women being secondary, lesser and not worthy of succession, rights or even a say in their own lives. That had been one of the reasons they had attacked the temples. Women had equal power within the temples…

“She will see you now.” The Priest smiled and opened a heavy wooden door.

“Thank you,” she couldn’t trust their uncle the way Brandon wanted to.

“Penolina, you can’t be serious about this.”

She didn’t stop, didn’t look back at him as she walked into the room.

“Pen!”

He’d either follow her or he wouldn’t, it no longer mattered.

“Welcome,” a warm female voice greeted her. “Please, be seated. I welcome all here, especially those who need answers.”

Penolina’s gaze narrowed. The woman was small, slight, almost child like in size and build. She stood in front of a large fireplace, with a merry blaze crackling behind her. Her hands showed no sign of age, but were smooth and clear. Her voice hinted at youth but the cowl hid her features. This was no woman who had served for the years she assumed would be required in order to attain such a rank. How could this be the priestess?

“Do not be fooled, child. I’m far older than I look,” she gestured to the chairs. “You and your brother should sit, we will be a while, I think.”

Her brother? She glanced over her shoulder. Brandon stood awkwardly in the doorway, heat flushing across his cheeks. Fine, at least he’d made up his mind. Without a word she sat down, waiting for Brandon to follow suit and claim one of the other chairs. He did so, but only after scuffing one foot on the floor and slumping down into the chair near her.

“The Lady warned me that you would be coming and the matter is a troubling one.” The Priestess stepped away from the fire and settled into a large, well padded chair on the other side of the fire. “Penolina and Brandon Usher, only children of Lord Fion Usher and Lady Helena Usher. Currently under the care and guardianship of Jacob Usher, younger brother of Fion.”

Penolina gripped the arms of the chair. “How did… did someone warn you that…”

“As I said, the Lady told me that you would come. She has spoken, in length, of your problems and the turns that life has presented you, just as she is aware of the plans your uncle has for you.” The woman pushed back the cowl and met Penolina’s gaze. “You were brave to come here, knowing that he has you followed, but the Lady blocked his spy this time and has kept the man busy. That will allow us to speak without rushing, to explore the options and prepare you for the choices ahead.”

Penolina closed her eyes, trying to find a moment to bring her thoughts back into some form of order. The woman knew too much and it only made sense if she did, indeed, have a connection with the Goddess, but doubt clouded her mind. What if this was nothing more than a game begun by their uncle? Had he reached out to the temple in case the siblings sought assistance here? No, that wasn’t the sort of thing she’d have expected from him yet he had proven to be duplicitous in the past.

“You expect me to believe a deity told you all of this?” Brandon exclaimed.

“No, I don’t expect you to believe, I simply refuse to pretend that I learned this information any other way.” The priestess sighed.

Had she been faced with such statements before? After the way things had changed during the occupation it would make sense that people would question those serving the Gods. “Please, we do not mean to offend, Lady. There is much we have to learn that has been hidden from us. The invasion tried to destroy our heritage and we were born and raised after the invasion.”

“You are as new born babes in all of this.” The woman agreed. “I take no offense at your words. I simply ask that you both listen with open hearts before you make a decision.”

That they could both do, though Penolina knew she would have to guide Brandon in this. Out of the pair, he was the more hot headed, having been given far more leeway in his behavior and choices. “We will try, Lady.”

“I ask for nothing more than that.” The woman nodded, a small smile touching her lips. “Brandon, it will be harder on you in the days and weeks to come. You will have to come to terms with the changes that the return of the Queen has triggered. The rights of women have returned and there are those who fight it, who wish to keep their ties with those of Ontour, but that is not how we were before the invasion and not how we should be going forth.”

Brandon began a protest but Penolina reached over, took his hand and squeezed.

“No, let him speak, child. He is entitled to his words just as you are.” The priestess chided.

Brandon snorted. “This is ridiculous. You can’t expect me to take you seriously.” He rose and paced away from the chair. “Either our uncle has contacted you or someone working against him. With your words about women having a voice, and how that goes against everything he believes in, I’d say it was one of his rivals who has put you up to this.” He stalked away to the door only to return again. “Yes, the stories tell us that before the invasion things were different, but no one would have believed the words of a mystic.”

“Then why were we forced to witness the execution of a Priest?” Penolina struggled to keep her emotions under control. Didn’t he see what was happening here?

“That was a means of controlling the people. Uncle Jacob explained it to me. There had been attempts to overthrow the rightful rule of the Ontourians and…”

“Are you listening to yourself?” She turned to face her brother, taking a deep breath before she continued. “Rightful rule? It was either an invasion or it was legal. It can’t be both, brother.”

He paled and shook his head, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “I’m just - I’m too young to know everything that led up to the invasion, even Uncle Jacob said that. He told me I’d understand soon enough.”

“And in the meantime you were to listen to him, let him lead the family and keep me in line before I made the mistakes of my gender and believed myself equal to men. Is that it?” Oh, she knew the words. She’d been hearing variations of them for years now. “Things are much better here since they all left. Even you have to see that. There’s more food. People have returned from the camps - not all, because some died there.” Or had been executed but Jacob had denied such things had happened.

“Very few died, only those too sick to save. Many left with the Ontourians, seeking a better life away from the system. They saw the troubles that would return when the Queen reclaimed her throne and…” he paused, frowning. “There haven’t been that many problems, have there?”

Relief washed over Penolina “No, dear one. There haven’t been. Those who supported the invasion have been the only real cause of trouble.” Did he see it or had he just stumbled over reasoning. “There’s so much that’s going on right now as our world, our system struggles to regain its path. People died, went missing, knowledge was denied to us as were the priests.” She nodded toward the Priestess. “The lady here will have spent time hiding as so many of those sworn to the temple did.”

“We fled but remained close where we could,” the woman confirmed, her voice tired and sorrow filled. “Then there were the servants of the temple. They were persecuted as well, hunted down as a means of tracking the priesthood down. Their families were removed from their homes, used as a means of pressurizing the servants and we lost so many of our number. Too many to count yet as the numbers are still being gathered.”

Brandon paled and sat down, the chair shifting as he dropped his weight into its confines. “I didn’t know.”

“Few do.”

Silence claimed the room, giving them time to think. Wood crackled in the fire and soft sounds filtered past the walls but no one spoke.

“Your uncle wishes to keep your property, and thinks to use Brandon as a means to form a new bond with the Ontourians. He’s of age to enter their training program and he has the means to get him off world.” The woman explained. “His plans for you, little sister, are far worse. He had thought to wed you into a family that shared his leanings, but has found a means of disposing of you. He pushes to have you committed into the hands of less than ethical doctors, to have your mind stripped so he can continue to hold sway over the family. This will leave your body intact, fit for breeding - which he plans on using his own seed - but your mind reduced to that of a child so you cannot speak against him.”

Horror sliced through Penolina with a cold blade. Her stomach clenched, body tightened and throat closed. She brought her hands up to her face, covering it as she shuddered. No matter what she thought of her uncle, she’d never once thought he would debate taking such cruel and evil steps. To be stripped of her mind, of her ability to fight back, that was worse than any prison she could think of. Death would be a kinder fate.

“How can such a thing be legal?” Brandon, his voice a ghost of its normal youthful energy.

“It is not, but there are those who remain who have kept up some of the practices encouraged by the Ontourians. Though such mind stripping was rare even when they were here, it was used as a punishment or as a means of controlling a family and the lands they laid claim to without killing off the line and leaving it in chaos.” The priestess explained, her voice oddly calm. “This doesn’t mean that you will meekly accept the fates he has planned out for either of you.”

Penolina lowered her hands, still shuddering as she blinked away shocked tears and met the steady gaze of the older woman. “What can we do?”

“You have entered the temple, which places you under my protection.”

“I knew it, this is just another way of taking what is ours.” Brandon snapped and jumped out of the chair.

I swear, he does that once more and I’ll tie him down! She scowled at her brother. “Sit down. You’re being foolish. The priestess would never do such a thing, nor would we allow it.”

He frowned and looked back and forth between his sister and the priestess. “Then why bring it up?”

“Because you are safe here, and cannot be removed from the temple by force. That, at least, is something we have managed to reestablish since the departure of our unwanted guests.”

That was one way of describing the Ontourians.

“So, we can stay here but what good will that do us?” Penolina forced her voice to remain calm. She didn’t want to be trapped in the temple though she would be safer here than she would be if they returned to their Uncle’s house.

“You stay here until the authorities send someone, but you would have to send a request for assistance to the capitol.”

Brandon groaned. “If we had the ability to do that, we wouldn’t have come here. I don’t even know whom to contact!”

“No, but I do and I have the means. The temple, like all temples, has a communications room. We kept our equipment hidden during the invasion but they were returned to the temples when the invaders fled.” The priestess smiled. “Sometimes the power of the Lady comes not from foretelling and the tweaking of threads, but by the placing of options before an open mind, which I know your sister lays claim to. It is not all mystical words and powerful predictions, but the offering of knowledge and help with the first step.”

Communication. A computer terminal, or something older, it didn’t matter as long as it worked. For the first time true hope flowered and the weight of the walls their uncle had built around them, began to ease. “It’s that simple? A call to an office?”

“Simple yes, but it will also not be quick. It might take hours, or even a day before…”

“Only a day?” She blinked and squeezed Brandon’s hand. “That’s nothing, lady. Not after all we’ve been through.” A day, a single day within the temple and then it would be over.

Brandon swallowed hard and for the first time her younger brother let down the walls. Tears slipped down his cheeks, though he scuffed them from his face. “It will be over. We will be free…”

“Should you wish it.” The priestess bowed her head. “All I can do is lay out the option, the choice to take it is always within your hands.”

A call, a message, then at most a day of waiting within the walls of the temple and then they would be free to choose their own path, to spin their own threads for the great tapestry under the care of the Lady of Fate. 

Moments

Moments is an Erien setting story, by Terri Pray.
Artwork by Samuel Pray, created using Daz 3D, Filter Forge and Photoshop. 

Don’t move. When you’re safe, stay there, don’t let them see you. No matter what you hear, what you see, you must obey me in this and remain hidden.

She could still see the power glimmering behind those calm silver tinged eyes as her mother had issued the order. Calm, strong, determined and beautiful, those words and so much more described her mother. A mother she had argued with time and again, only to find out that mother or not, she was the Queen and would be obeyed - especially by her only child. Authority that commanded her on three different levels. No matter how she looked at it, she couldn’t disobey but Goddess, how she wanted to ignore those words. It would have been so easy to dart back to her parents, draw blades and fight. Yet she’d been forced to give her word, to obey her mother and leave, escape, run like the child they still believed her to be.

Shouts rang out from the beach. Cruel laughter, screams of pain,wood cracking as the ship died under the onslaught of flames, and more sounds, steel on something that she couldn’t identify. Dancer’s body tightened, muscles taut as she fought to hold position, her gaze fixed on the fire claimed form of the ship. Tears stung her eyes, blinding her in the moment that she let them spill, but didn’t dare to wipe them away from her face. Movement would only draw attention their way and with attention came danger, injury and the potential of death.

Only when she believed it was safe did her right hand moved to the hilt of the dagger she wore on her hip, the movement a slow, careful, calculated one. If they moved toward her, she had to be ready. A dagger wouldn’t be enough to save her life, but she could also use it as a focus for a spell, to gather the shadows and form them into a weapon, a trap, something that would help her to survive the moment.

Magic came at a price but it was one she was willing to pay, at least this time around. The spent energy replenished, in this case, quickly enough, leaving her ready to use her abilities again should the need arise.

Her gaze never left the men and women on the beach, though they made no move toward her hiding place. In truth they hadn’t left their spoils and the burning wreck in at least two candle marks. Not that she would allow herself to grow complacent. She’d been trained too well for that to happen. Yet the need to strike out, to claim their lives and take vengeance for the pain they had caused, pushed at her to take action. It itched beneath her skin, stinging her nerves until she was forced to focus on her breathing, letting the tension ease a fraction at a time.

The killers danced, moving across the sand in wild abandon, their feet marking new patterns in the blood soaked sand. Blood that had come from her family and friends even as the sun sank, casting patterns of burnt orange and red across the cloud heavy sky. The smell of burning wood and death saturated the breeze that carried across the beach, teasing at the loose strands of hair that had pulled free from her single heavy braid.

I won’t fail them. Her family, her people, her promise to her mother. She had to succeed, survive and make it back home. Nothing else mattered, not even her own pride or desire for revenge. Bugs crawled across her skin, digging under her still damp clothing, triggering a fresh wave of itching. Sand, sweat, gnats, salt and nerves all combined to claw at her nerves but still she didn’t move. She couldn’t, not without defying the final orders issued by her parents.

She blinked again, trying to clear her vision. She wasn’t going to cry anymore. Tears were for the weak. You didn’t cry in the midst of a battle, you barely even paused to wipe away the blood of your enemies mingled with your own sweat. Only doing so when you had a moment to spare or the fluids might interfere with your ability to fight.

No, warriors didn’t cry.

At least not where they might be seen.

Live. Survive. Return home. Nothing else had mattered to them when they had shoved her in the direction of her warrior Guardians. It hadn’t mattered that she had wanted to remain, to fight along side of them, they’d wanted her to leave. To be the coward and run, hide, not stand scream in the face of death.

Now they were gone.

Her mother, beautiful, powerful, with long red blonde hair held back in a tight braid, cheeks marked with blood and ash, her jaw set and gaze fixed on their attackers. No fear. No doubt. Only the sure knowledge that she had to hold the line until her daughter was safe. Twin daggers at the ready even as she screamed her defiance at their enemies.

Her father, flawed but strong. Bright blue eyes and a quick smile, laughter that had carried her through some of the dark times and a warm hug that had held her up when she’d stumbled. He was a warrior in his own right, something she’d witnessed again when Hawk had pulled her away from her parents. In that moment he’d turned and winked at her, his long sword in hand and his teeth bared in a hungry smile.

Sword. Her mother had lacked a sword. That weapon, one her family had wielded for generations, had been passed into the hands of the senior Guardian, with strict instructions not to place it in her hands until they were safe. No, not they, her. The daughter. The only legitimate child. The only one acknowledged by both grove and Goddess alike - and the one the attackers had been sent to find. Or so Hawk had told her before they’d run, before the majority of the attackers had reached the ship. He’d recognized something about the force, their colors or the cries. She was the target, and death would not be the fate they had in mind. No. A marriage as a means to claim the island they called home.

She nibbled on her bottom lip, sucking in between her teeth, her gaze focused on the remains of the ship. Tattered, burning sails moved in the wind, though only half of the main mast remained. Figures moved in front of the burning wreck, men for the most part, though there were some women among those who had attacked the ship and all but wiped out both passengers and crew. Any spoils had been dragged onto the sands, and more than one of their attackers had opened a keg of ale or helped themselves to wine as a part of their celebrations, adding to the maelstrom of movement. Light glinted from the tips of blades, laughter and blood curdling howls carried on the air, though thankfully the screams of their victims had ceased some time ago. Had others survived other than herself and the bleeding, silent man who lay behind her?

If so, where were they?

Would she be able to find them? Would Hawk allow her the chance to look?

No, his priority would be returning them both to the Isle. 

“They will be gone soon, Dancer.” Hawk’s low voice reached her ears. “There’s nothing left for them now and our tracks were covered. Come back here, please.”

Of course they are, you made me cover them up. Magic, a subtle spell, just enough to return the sand to normal, wiping out any traces of their passage though the time it had taken to cast the spell had cost them both something that could never be replaced.

Tony. Sweet, over protective, always smiling Tony. Gone now. One of the many lives claimed by the attack. The man she had planned on marrying, despite protests from Hawk and an outright ban from her mother. He was her guardian, or rather guardian in training. It wasn’t unheard of for a guardian to marry their ward, but it was very rare indeed. Her mother had, for a short time, been involved with one of her three guardians, long before she’d married the man who was Dancer’s father. Nothing had come of that, no child, nothing long term, but plenty of memories that had brought more than one smile to her mother’s face.

A relationship, a time in the grove, a Beltane lover, all of these were acceptable but a husband - less so. But she loved him. Had loved him from the time he had been brought into her life as a guardian in training when he’d barely been more than fourteen. Now, at nineteen, he was dead. His blood feeding the sand like so many other friends and family members.

Had loved him. He’s dead. Gone. I can’t bring him back. Not even the Goddess can bring him back.

Her Tony. Beloved. Trusted. Calm and considerate, barely willing to steal more than a kiss, despite her attempts to persuade him otherwise. No, he’d been sweet, loving and had wanted to wait. So they had waited. Now it would never be. No wedding night, no Beltane blessing, no dancing around the fires with him, sharing mead and more. Only memories of a few kisses, of holding hands and whispered promises. The ring, she didn’t even have her ring anymore. It had been lost, snatched from her hand in the desperate flight from the ship. It hadn’t been much, just a simple band of silver with a small piece of amber in a filigree basket.

Lost to one of their attackers. Stolen, just as he’d been stolen from her.

Blue eyes, blond hair, and an innocent smile. Too innocent for this world. She knew that now, had known it from the start if she wanted to be honest with herself. He’d hated his hair but had loved hers. Candle marks spent with him untangling her braids, unweaving the strands and finger combing it. Fire. Living fire, that’s what he’d called it.

Blaze red, flames, the mark of the Goddess if the legends were to be believed. Her mother hadn’t been a full chosen, but one of the bloodline, keeping the throne until the next true born came of age.

Had she known?

“We’ll be able to move soon,” Hawk spoke, his voice soft but not a whisper. He was too smart for that, a whisper would carry, just as a hiss would. Better so soften tones and not have your words carry beyond the ears you intended them for. “But I need you back here, Dancer. Now.”

Dancer didn’t look back at him. She didn’t want to. Not after the way he’d dragged her away from the fight. Anger remained in the pit of her belly, a sullen, still hot coal that refused to cool. Yes, he’d done the right thing, she’d accepted the order - reluctantly - but it didn’t stop how she felt.

Being childish.

In all fairness she was still a child in the eyes of many, but that was an excuse and she knew it. She’d been trained better than that. Her entire childhood had been dedicated to school, training, everything that would help to prepare her for her role as Queen upon the death of her mother. Something she had assumed would be years from now, decades, when she was ready to take the throne. Not when she was sixteen.

Today was supposed to be my birthday.

It was still her birthday, just not one she would ever want to remember.

Defying Hawk any longer made no sense. She didn’t need to watch the killers that closely, no, they’d be able to see and hear any approach from the cover she’d settled Hawk into. In all honesty, she’d moved to the edge of that cover because she hadn’t wanted to be near the man who had dragged her away from both her family, and the cooling corpse of the man she loved.

Don’t think about that.

Too late. His open, staring eyes, slack lips and blood pooling in the sand. The light gone from his eyes now and forever.

Dancer swallowed hard, forcing the wave of fresh grief under control before she eased back on her belly through the undergrowth, slow, careful, stopping anytime she thought she’d made a sound, or there was a drop in background noise. She wouldn’t be the cause of them being discovered, even if she had to take a full candle mark in order to make it back to Hawk.

Her last remaining guardian and a man who was injured. Badly injured by the smell of blood that reached her nose, another thing they would have to take care of before they attempted to move from the precious cover they currently used. Gods alone knew they had been lucky to find this spot.

He made me leave my family, abandon them once and for all. Why should I care if he dies or not?

Because he was family as well, he’d been obeying the orders of the queen - her mother, he cared for her, protected her and had been her primary trainer since the day she had taken her first wobbly steps. He’d pushed, forced, bullied and praised her through training, always seeking improvement, never letting her grow complacent. Though she had magic at her fingertips, he’d forced her to learn how to use weapons skills, fighting, agility, and most of all, her mind.

The greatest weapon a warrior had was their mind - or so Hawk had told her time and again.

Emotions battled against common sense even as she turned her attention to her sole remaining guardian.

Hawk watched her, his dark brown eyes narrowed on her form as she turned to look at him, moving from her belly and onto her feet, crouching as she moved closer to him before settling down onto her knees by his left leg. He didn’t speak, though his face was lined with pain and a gray tinge marked his skin. Blood matted his close cropped hair from a gash on the top of his head, but that wasn’t the one that worried her - at least not since he’d reassured her that he showed no signs of real damage. It was nothing more than a shallow gash that bled heavily for a time. No, the sword he’d taken in his left thigh was her real cause for concern.

“Look at me, Dancer.”

Her jaw set but she turned just enough to meet his gaze. “We let them die. We saved our own damned skins and paid for that with their lives.”

“No, we obeyed the orders of the Queen.” His gaze narrowed, voice cold. “It had to be done.”

“No, it didn’t and now she’s dead. I could have saved her, if you’d just let me - if she’d… she’s gone. They’re all gone.” Her throat tightened, fresh tears threatening to spill even as she blinked furiously. No tears. No more public tears. She’d made herself that promise. “We should have stayed, argued with her, done something to help them, but we ran. Like cowards we ran.”

“Yes, they’re gone but that doesn’t change anything. When it’s safe to move we’ll make our way out of here and begin the journey home.” His voice never faltered, remaining cool, detached even as his gaze held hers. “We withdrew on the orders of our Queen, our commanding officer. There will come a time when you have to issue an order that someone else disagrees with, but you will still expect that order to be followed.”

Dancer bit back a growl as her hands clenched into tight fists. “I know.” It didn’t matter that he was right, that she had been taught better. This was her mother! I want my mother back. I need her. I’m too young to be without her. No child should bury a mother so early. Except there wouldn’t be a burial. The burning ship was a pyre for both her parents.

No father to stand at my wedding, sword drawn, ready to strike if my husband proves false.

Only Hawk remained to stand in the place of family, friends, and loved ones. A sworn guardian, a warrior who would stand at her side but also willing to take her life should the darkness claim her. A terrible duty that only two guardians in the history of her family had ever been forced to follow through on.

“Let go of the anger, Dancer.”

“How?” That wasn’t all she wanted to say, but anything else that came out of her mouth would have made the situation worse. “I don’t even have time to grieve! I want to - damn you - can’t you give me time to grieve?”

Grieving meant tears, that would be done in private, not where someone else could see her.

“Do you want to add the ‘it’s not fair’ to your wailing, or are you done with the whining, Dancer?”

The harsh words sliced through her deeper than any blade. She inhaled deeply and looked away. She wasn’t whining. Was she? Dancer turned away from him, soft trembles running through her body as she looked down at her stained leathers. Leathers her father had gifted her with a day ago. Matching boots, leather pants, a jacket and the soft off white linen shirt had all been presented to her the previous night. Black leather, now marked with sweat, blood and salt water. The right leg had a slight tear, but that she could fix. Maybe. Or pay someone to fix it, if she had enough money.

She reached back, rubbing at her neck, at the coating of salt, blood and sand only to shift the heavy silver torc she wore about her neck. The symbol of her rank, her acceptance by both the throne and the grove alike, and yet right now all she wanted to do was tear off the thick silver and throw it away. Yet she couldn’t. No matter what she felt, how angry, how many tears clawed at her eyes and throat alike, she couldn’t abandon the torc and everything it meant.

It’s not fair.

The thought jolted her. Goddess, yes… she was whining.

“I’m sorry.” She lifted her chin but didn’t look at him, not yet. She couldn’t. Hawk knew her too well, if she met his gaze he’d somehow know that those ridiculous words had echoed through her mind. “You’re right, I’m better than this.”

“Don’t be sorry, change the action.” Hawk’s voice softened. “It’s been a long day, you’ve been through more than anyone your age should have had to face. These are the moments that define who we are, Dancer. What you do now, how you choose to react when faced with all of this, will leave a mark that you will carry for the rest of your life.”

Dancer glanced back over her shoulder, blinking hard and fast. She wasn’t going to cry. Wouldn’t give into it. Not now. Not ever. “We need to get your leg seen to. I can’t do much more than I already have unless… there’s the one spell.” A spell she’d only used twice before, but it had worked. “It would allow you to get back on your feet, I’ll just need a little time to recover from it, that’s all.”

“No, you’re not going to use that. Not on me. I won’t put you at risk.” Hawk shook his head and reached out to touch the bandage on his upper thigh. “The kit. It’s a small one but should have a needle pack.” He grunted, the sound a low one as he shifted his weight. “You’re going to have to sew it, and get some of the green salve on it.”

“If we have any,” she grumbled but pulled over the small canvas pack. Green salve, there was another name for it, but the fact was green salve was easier to remember than the three part name the healer had given it. The spell would be faster but it would weaken her for a time, yet surely that was better than being stuck with a companion who would barely be able to walk, even with the salve?

Do it, use the spell, deal with the consequences later.

No, she couldn’t do that. Hawk had a trick up his sleeve, one he would put into play if he believed she might try to use her magic on him. The guardian to ward order, a compulsion spell that would lock her in place, forcing her to follow through with a simple command, but it would be enough to snap her control over the magic.

Damned stubborn man. I need him on his feet.

“We do, I packed that bag so I remember - for the most part - what’s in it. We have the green salve and some of the black salve. Should been a needle kit and a small bottle of ice-spirits. Should be enough in there to get me on my feet.”

Ice-spirits - that would help. With all of the dirt and ash they’d been forced to move through, crawl through in some cases, cleaning the wound had the potential to be a nightmare, but with the spirits they would be able to kill infection - or so the healers had drummed into her. Dancer smiled, pulling out the small bottle, wrapped in thick raw wool to reduce the changes of the bottle breaking in transit. Once that was set aside, she added the pot of salve, needle kit and bandages. A quick glance into the bag sent a chill down her spine. The bandages she’d pulled out where the only ones in the pack.

“We don’t have any back up supplies, Hawk. What’s in this bag, and what few things we both have in pouches and pockets, are all we have to hand.” Dancer struggled to keep her voice calm, even as fear clawed its way into the pit of her stomach. “I have some coins with me but I doubt that will get us very far.”

“We’ll find help once we’re on the road, Dancer.” Hawk explained as he shifted and touched a pouch on his belt

 “Should be able to buy horses, or at least one horse. That will make things easier. There was a fishing village on the other side of the point, and farms not far from the coast, between those two we’ll find the help we need.”

“I know,” but would the people they found be willing to help them? This wasn’t their home and their attackers - they’d be searching for them. For her. “Fine, let’s get this done.” A wound, an injured older man, and a teenage girl. Weeks from home, by sea, maybe longer as she didn’t know how much magic her mother had poured into the sails, and the odds of them having enough money to make it home were somewhere between slim and none.

“The Dragon Throne, your mother signed a treaty with them several years ago. They will help us.” Strength and confidence carried through his words. “Have faith, we will manage. The Goddess will protect us. You’re her chosen, the heir to the throne and the one recognized by the grove.”

Would the Dragon Throne help them? What if they were behind the attack. Why would the Goddess protect them when they were so far away from their home? Her mother, after all, had turned down a suggestion that the prince - Rhodan or something like that - join their houses through marriage. No, that wasn’t how it worked on the Isle. No arranged marriages. That went against the wishes of the Triple Faced Goddess. How could such an attack take place within the boundary of the Dragon Throne unless the royal family was involved, or had at least agreed to turn a blind eye to what was going on?

“Fine, we get this wound dressed and then we move.” She inhaled slowly, releasing the breath after holding it for a count of ten. “This is going to hurt,” she warned before reaching for the bottle of ice spirits. “I’ll be as gentle as I can.”

“I have faith in you,” Hawk tensed, his breathing changing as she worked.

Dancer glanced up and then returned her attention to the wound, stripping away any cloth, though some had stuck to the flesh. Cold sweat washed over her body when she looked at the wound. Deep, torn flesh and muscle. She wasn’t a healer but the look of it - she wasn’t skilled enough to deal with this.

Her hands trembled even as she poured a small amount of the ice spirits on the open wound. Her guardian didn’t make a sound, though all color drained from his flesh, leaving him pale and shaking. His scent changed, a subtle shift into pain and fear but she didn’t mention it. He had his pride and she wasn’t about to tear that away from him.

Odd, not long ago she’d wanted to hurt him, to make him feel the pain she’d felt at the loss of her family. Now she was willing to defend his pride. Hawk was right. It all came down to moments in time. Decisions made and acted upon, instead of reacted to.

 “Alright, we’re almost done, just a little more.” She frowned at the needle, already cleaned with the spirits, and threaded it on the third attempt. “I can’t promise that this will be neat.” Sewing, she’d only managed it a couple of times and only then because Hawk had insisted all warriors needed to be able to take care of minor repairs. Using that limited knowledge to sew up a wounded leg wasn’t something she’d expected.

“You can do this. Breathe through it, focus on the stitches, not on the material.”

Not on the flesh, the muscle, the blood. Goddess have mercy, I have to do this. I can do this.

Cloth, not flesh. Leather, not muscle. She repeated the litany as she worked, securing the stitches in place, keeping them as small and neat as she could despite the fading light. Her hands didn’t shake, her breath didn’t hitch, all she knew in those moments was the feel of the needle in her hand. Only when she tied off the last stitch, cleaned the needle and tidied up the kit did she realize it was over.

With a quick shake of head Shadowdancer, heir to the Isle, pushed aside the last of her doubts and soothed the green salve over the wound before wrapping it and securing the bandage in place.

“It’s not perfect but it’s done.” She lifted her gaze, meeting the pain clouded eyes of her guardian.

He took a shuddering breath and wiped one hand across his brow before he spoke again. “Thank you, your highness. Now we move, they won’t leave the beach until dawn, and we’re going to make the most of the darkness.” Hawk confirmed, waiting only long enough for Dancer to return everything to pack and secure it with the single buckle before he held out a hand. “We do this together.”

For a moment, a heartbeat, she hesitated. Doubt, fear, uncertainty all washed through her mind and then vanished. She couldn’t do this alone, she needed to find a way home and for that she needed Hawk. Not just the guardian, but the friend, the second father, and the only person she knew in this strange land. He hadn’t betrayed her, he’d chosen to comply with the final order of his queen. He hadn’t dismissed her grief, he’d pulled her up short for acting like a child when she was on the cusp of being an adult. He’d done his job and no matter her pain, she couldn’t - with a now clear mind -  find fault with his actions.

She offered her left hand, bracing to take his weight as his larger, stronger hand slapped into hers, fingers closing around hers even as she tightened her grip and pulled her companion to his feet.

“Together.”