Chapter 7
The warm crackle of a fire filled her ears as she drifted up from the heaviness of the darkness. It was followed by the stench of smoke, meat roasting on the fire, fat sizzling, herbs smoking. Her stomach growled, rousing her further into the waking world, though it felt like an eternity before her eyes cracked open. Slowly, at first, then all at once, perceiving the world in a hazy blur. A wash of black, flecked with bursts of white.
Stars, she realised, as the sight cleared and she realised she was sprawled beneath a night sky, right by a crackling fire. With a groan, she rolled over and there he was, stoking the fire idly. His eyes were on the fire, momentarily lost, as though in another time and place. Sensing her gaze, he looked up, seemed to regard her with a curious sort of expression, like she was a kind of puzzle. She felt exposed in his gaze and looked suddenly down. Again, she’d been changed and looked up, accusingly.
“Your clothes were…shredded in your fall. I had to cover you, lest you wanted to freeze?” He asked quietly.
She stared, trying to figure him out. Saving her once seemed like a gift from the Gods, one she wasn’t about to argue with. Twice, seemed…convenient. Still, even she couldn’t dismiss the fact that a wyvern or a dragon had ripped her off the cliff, that she’d been falling. In her mind she told herself that a wyvern had attacked her, that the dragon had seen and intervened. Had he caught her, then?
“What happened to my bag? My stuff?”
He gestured to a small pack, which was wrapped quite differently than she had before. “I returned later, found what I could and brought it back. There was a shredded waterskin, which I left there, and some badly broken tools which were beyond repair.”
Which meant the diary was safe, she reflected, though with a following curl of confusion. It seemed like something he might not want her to have. A kind of precious artefact she’d stolen. Still, if he’d seen it and put it back, that meant he wanted to have it. As to why she had no idea. Only, she was beginning to realise, that was to be common whenever she saw him – if she even saw him after they parted again. Though it might happen, given she hadn’t expected to see him after the first time.
Flopping back, she tried to figure out why, in the space of several days, she’d been attacked three times by a wyvern. The second, she assumed, had been due to the wyvern blood on her. The third made no sense. She hadn’t been anywhere near their territory, nor near any food or a nest. So, what had drawn it to her?
“Is this to be a thing for us? Wyverns attacking me, the dragon saving me, you patching me up? It makes me seem quite helpless,” said Wren with a smile.
He snorted. “You killed a wyvern by yourself. I’d say you’re not helpless.”
When she glanced over at him again the ghost of a smile tugged at his mouth. It seemed to be restrained, as if some other thought was on his mind, chasing away that smile. She wondered what that smile look like.
“Your dragon was low down in the mountains – does he do that often?” Wren asked, rolling over.
Stupidly, she wondered if the dragon had been following her, watching over her like some watchful spirit. It was an indulgent thought, one she dismissed quickly. Well, tried to dismiss, anyway. Lorca’s gaze darkened faintly, lowering to the low burning fire, as if it might offer up the words he wanted to say – or had to say. A lie or a truth. Only, Wren didn’t know what she’d get.
“Food isn’t as abundant as it once was. Dragons were careful in their hunting, so as not to diminish the herds of wild goat that grazed the mountains. Sometimes, they’d venture further if food was scarce. Unfortunately, Wyverns are not as careful – dumb beasts, really – and they’ve practically eaten everything here. Thus, my friend had to hunt lower down,” he explained.
It sounded like a half truth, though Wren wasn’t sure specifically what rang false and what didn’t, only that she detected two tones in it. Perhaps her silly mind was right and the dragon was watching her closely. Why, though? Out of some sort of honour for what she did on the mountain, even though she felt the debt repaid?
“Oh.”
He lifted his gaze, slowly, curiosity flickering quietly in those ancient eyes. “You’re disappointed?”
“Grateful,” she corrected.
A small frown furrowed his brow. “Grateful?”
“Never mind.” She tried to sit up but a wave of dizziness rushed through her mind. Abruptly, she turned to the side and emptied the contents of her stomach by the fire. Red-faced, she wiped her mouth and and looked up, horrified. “My apologies.”
His gaze was on what she’d thrown up, which she felt was more than she’d eaten of late. Then, slowly, she glanced down and froze. Amongst the reddish contents was shards of bone.
Snow crunched beneath her boots, puncturing the silence around her. She tried to focus on it, to keep her mind away from all that had happened and the look in Lorca’s eyes as he led her back down the mountain. It had been a look that she’d been trying to shake since he left her to continue the rest of the way. Like he’d seen a ghost.
Shaking her head, she wrapped her arms around her body and pushed on through the snow along the path. She kept her eyes on the snow, which must’ve fallen in the night she’d been asleep, and tried to brace herself for the fight she knew was coming. By the time she glimpsed the village up ahead she was so wound up that she felt like she’d snap at the first person she saw, tear into them with her bare hands. When she approached the threshold she saw no one, not even one person out tending to the animals or out and about in general. It was quiet, too quiet.
She slowed, lingered a little by the threshold, then continued on. As she did the entrance to the Climbers Hall opened, both Vaughn and Mira stepping outside. Their heads were bent together as they spoke in low voices. Mira suddenly recoiled, spun away from him and Wren saw the tears that stained her cheeks. Her teary eyes found Wren, widening sharply with shock.
“Wren?”
Vaughn’s eyes snapped up. “Wren?”
Mira turned to him, shook her head fiercely and was off, striding back in the direction of her home. Briefly, Vaughn tracked her but seemed worried, like he wanted to follow her. It seemed somehow tender, softer than Wren had ever seen at her. Somewhat reluctantly, he dragged his gaze back to Wren before he closed the distance between them. Wren held up her hand.
“I know I should be scolded about the weather,” said Wren.
Vaughn waved a hand. “Trust me, when the storm hit Flynn was ranting about your reckless decision to go off climbing by yourself. Now, we have bigger problems.”
“Bigger problems?”
“The merchant came early,” he explained, then glanced around, as if he might be overheard. “We should go inside.”
She reluctantly followed him into the Climbers Hall, where the rest of the team gathered around the fire. Flynn, whom sat by the fire, glanced up, then quickly looked back to Mira. He resumed speaking in a low voice, focused on her, though Wren swore he watched her closely in the corner of his eye. The message was clear. He was furious about her lone climb and wasn’t about to forgive her, safe return or not.
Beyond them, Prilla was sitting by the main table, reading a book. It made Wren think of the diary in her bag, written in a language she didn’t recognise, practically gifted by someone she’d probably never see again. It was probably not even a diary. She had no way to tell. It was just as likely to be a cooking book or a ledger! How was she to know, beyond the fact she’d felt compelled to take it?
“Max?” Wren asked, leaning over to Vaughn.
The newly weds were scarcely more than several feet from each other. Certainly not in all the time she’d seen them.
Vaughn ushered her over to the edge of the room where the glow of the fire failed to pierce. Obscured in the wispy shadows he exhaled deeply, his troubled eyes flickering to Prilla, softly sympathetic.
“He’s with his cousin’s family. Luca came off one of his horses he was breaking, snapped his neck,” murmured Vaughn. “He was out when that storm you were caught in hit the village.”
It was well known that Luca’s family, small as they were, were full of pride and saw Prilla’s humble up bringing from a family of Climbers as something of a stain. It didn’t help that Luca’s family had raised Max and were scathing of his decision to be a Climber.
Wren sighed, wrapped her arms around her body. “That’s not all the bad news, is it? You said the Merchant came early?”
When Vaughn slowly lifted those dark eyes of his, sombre as they were, she caught a glimpse of unease in those depths. A look that seemed far graver than the village’s worries of a dwindling harvest or willing Climbers.
“He was in a small town a few days from here. Denmarden, I think he said. At an inn he heard of Slavers tracking north from the capital of Roa, gathering up people to build the Empress’s new monument there. According to him they’re getting closer to us with each day. It is making everyone very nervous,” said Vaughn, glancing back at the others.
“But we’re remote and we don’t receive visitors, aside from the merchant. Do we think he may have disclosed our location?” She whispered softly.
“He assured us that he took extra precautions to hide himself but it’s not as though there isn’t a path leading here. If they stumble across it in their search for slaves it’s only a matter of time,” he said grimly.
Slavers always seemed like something from a bad story, the reason the village was as secretive as they were. No one had slaves and it was a lingering fear from the world beyond that Slavers might come. It had been, as such, an effective way to keep children from wondering too much about the world beyond.
“We’re heading out, I presume?”
“The elders are discussing,” replied Vaughn with a scowl.
Wren’s eyes bugged. “Discussing what? We can’t stay! We should leave, if only until the Slavers depart. If we move higher we can use the regular storms, the heavy snow and even the wyverns to protect us. The Slavers are unlikely to press further north, especially when they find nothing here.”
“I advised us to do just that, to even to make the village look long abandoned. They might find the trail, come here but all they’ll see is something long forgotten,” he said but, from his tone, the suggestion had not gone over as he’d liked.
Which begged the question, what was the intention of the elders and why had they done nothing? What kept them, risking enslavement?
Wren shook her head but said nothing. She followed Vaughn back to the fire, sitting with them until the lunch bell tolled, beckoning the Climbers from their hall and off to join the rest of the village.
The elders were in discussion well into the night. The hall was barred, so there was no chance to go in, make a statement. Vaughn had been right. There was little interest in what anyone else had to say. It made Wren restless, even more than she had been the past few days. She retreated back to her room, where her mother readily embraced her. Elise was already asleep in her room, curled up beneath a thick array of furs. Only the side of her face was visible in the silver lit room.
Turning from her Wren stripped off her clothes, wincing as she surveyed the rebandaged wounds. She carefully lifted the bandaged, inspecting the damage. What had once been red and ugly seemed, for the most part, healed. Still, it seemed Lorca had cleaned her wounds and bandaged her up before dressing her. That made her cheeks flame.
Once she changed into her night shift she crawled under the blankets and wrapped herself up, closing her eyes in an effort to sleep. Unfortunately, after an hour or so, sleep refused to even nudge her mind. She kicked away the furs and lay there, staring up at the moonlit ceiling, considering a plan. The mountains were the best option. The safest, anyway and she knew only one person whom might know of somewhere safe for them. The mountains were a trove of hidden places, so one had to be safe from wyverns and clear of any chance of slavers – right?
Perhaps she might even ask if the dragon himself would consider aiding them. If a dragon appeared the slavers would run away.
Knowing what she had to do she got up and dressed. She donned her furs, then fastened the sword to her back. If she was to encounter a wyvern again she had to be ready. With a straying glance at her sister, whose heart burned for a life free of the mountains, not one buried deeper within it, Wren headed outside.
The village was quiet and lit only by a few low burning torches hung about. Up by the entrance she glimpsed a figure striding up from the path below. Even without seeing his face she knew whom it was and without a chance to hide, he saw her, too. Vaughn pushed back his hood and peered at her in the low light.
“You can’t be off for another climb? Now?”
“I have an idea for the village. Something that could offer us refuge for the time,” she said quietly, glancing cautiously back at the village. When she looked back at him, seeing that expectant look in his eyes, she exhaled deeply. “Look, I’ll explain later, if this works. I expect I’ll be back in several hours if all goes well.”
He reached out, set a hand on her arm, leaning in a little. “It’s dangerous out there, especially at night.”
“It’ll be dawn in a few hours, which is when I plan to start climbing. Besides, I can handle myself,” she said, thinking of Lorca’s remark – after all, she had killed a wyvern.
“It still isn’t a good idea, not with slavers so close to home. They could find you,” he insisted stubbornly.
The only time she’d seen Lorca was when the others weren’t there. Without them he might see her. He didn’t see that, couldn’t see that because for that to happen she’d have to tell him the truth. There wasn’t time for that. A cold, calm clarity settled in her mind as she carefully grabbed his hand, prying it off without tearing her gaze from his.
“I am not your fiancé Vaughn,” she said quietly. “Let me go. I have to do this.”
He stepped back, recoiling from her cold barb. The hurt darkened his face. She felt guilty at hurting him but he wouldn’t let her leave unless she made him back off. Otherwise, he’d dig his heels in, try to act the hero, to pretend like she hadn’t said no when he proposed to her.
She held his gaze for a moment, daring him to say more, to stop her. When he didn’t she stalked past him, hurrying off into the darkness, praying to anyone that might listen that Lorca would answer her prayers.
Otherwise, she’d find another way, somehow.
ns 15.158.61.50da2
