It wasn't the Darkness.
The action was full of grumbling and creaking on the part of the door. A soft face pushed into the stable, settling in on the redhead's fierce blue eyes. The face belonged to a man whose gait was far from the gnarly wretchedness of the Dark.
"Don't worry, it's just my brother," Briar whispered to Faolan before looking up, "Cal, what are you doing back so soon? You've only been gone for a few days!"
"There was a wolf attack," Cal's eyes were in a deadlock with Faolan's. The distrust in his voice was evident. "We lost over half of the flock. I need...I need to talk to you alone."
Briar brushed her fingertips against Faolan's head, causing his mind to stir with thoughts of jealousy as soon as she stood. For a moment, his crippling fear of death gave way to a powerful enigma. He watched the hem of her dress flowing across the earthen floor – copper hair falling wildly out of the knot she made.
Faolan watched her leave longingly. He believed for a moment that he could manipulate the world around her, drawing the maiden into his arms as he hungered. It was soon gone. Inefficacy arrested his thoughts, unable to wrap invisible chains around her waist. Yet, he was glad of it. There had been a change in him, and he refused to feed that wolf any longer.
"Was anyone hurt?" Briar soon asked, Cal's arm protectively around her waist as they stood atop a boulder overlooking the moor. The barn was well in the distance now, yet neither of them knew that her patient was still able to hear.
Cal's face was ruddy and chapped, emitting a laborious kind of glow. He stood not much taller than his sister, but had the brawn of a man twice his size. There was a certain wrinkling between his thick eyebrows that Briar studied intently. It was a wrinkle that had, since the time of their childhood, come along with attempts at concealment.
There were no tatters in his clothes, no visible wounds. Such news should have produced more alarm in Briar, as animal attacks were some of the greatest dangers to shepherds in the field. After studying his demeanor, Briar could only guess that a wolf attack wasn't the true reason of Cal's swift return.
"There was no wolf, was there?"
"No," Cal replied sternly. "But they're coming."
Rain began falling. There was a crackle of thunder, then downpour. Cal grabbed his sister's hand, guiding her down the rocky slope. They crawled into a nook, a layer of peat and heather sheltering and warming them from the ledge above. Water pounded against the rock as they spoke. Cal continued gravely.
"Who is that man? Another rebel?"
"I don't know," Briar replied. "He's badly injured and he only speaks in riddles. Beyond that, I have no idea who he is or where he's from."
"Take care what you tell him about yourself. Did you hear the thunder last night?
Briar nodded.
"It wasn't thunder. It was something else – a meteor, a weapon, we don't know. But, the Magisterial army is beginning to move in on Moorland in search of it."
"They can't move into Moorland," Briar shuddered, "We're an independent state!"
"And, remember, the seat of the New Rebellion." The rain came down with such force that it angled itself into the cave. The layers of peat around them soaked it well, but droplets of mist infiltrated them through cracks in the rock. Cal placed his hand Briar's shoulder and gave her a look of the utmost seriousness. "They can do whatever they please, Cluaran. They have an army. They are coming, and they are going to stay."
Cluaran. Her nickname since childhood. It was the Gaelic word for thistle, which Cal always thought fitting of Briar's sharp tongue. Briars were already sharp, but thistles were like daggers. She'd outgrown insults, but never outgrown her persistence to flourish in the wastelands. At the mention of her pet-name, Briar's heart began thudding. Whether in play or in war, Cal would never call her Cluaran if he was being dishonest.
"But why do they want us now? Meteors fall. Stars burn. Our people have nothing to offer!"
"I don't know, Cluaran. But they're going door-to-door looking for it. Some of them are among us as we speak. They'll have us put into castes and sewing their uniforms before you can tend to him again."
Cal looked away from her, Briar knowing full and well what he was getting at.
"You don't think..." she trailed off, "That's he's one of them?"
"I don't know, Briar. Is he?"
"He's not," she asserted. "I know he's not. He was here when the star fell. I came into the barn and found him...bleeding out..." she remembered what she had seen and shivered. She omitted the inky blood.
"We must take care, little thistle. The Imperial Guard has breached the border and is coming to do a search of every house. They'll do a headcount and a census and heaven-knows-what. We can't open ourselves up to the risk..."
"Would you rather have let him die?" Briar shot up in defense.
"It's not a question, Briar. Do what you can today, but after that must send him on his way. The others are on their way back with the flocks as we speak."
They didn't say much else. Her intentions pure, she left Cal and ran back to the barn in search of a plan. But, when she got there, fate had spoken. She looked to the spot where Faolan had been incapacitated. He was gone, along with the black stain around his body.
In its place was a pile of black, sparkling dust.