Ella sat on the edge of the opening, her legs dangling over the sheer drop below. The light from the sun felt warm against her skin as it shone down through the jagged peaks of the towering mountains around her. The alcove in which she sat was small, maybe only about thirty feet long and twenty feet wide. It looked as though it had been carved straight from the sandy-brown rock of the mountainside, for the sharp angles and smooth surface of the stone seemed far too perfect to be natural. A small pond sat in the alcove's centre, water glistening in the sun.
It had been a few days since Yana and Farwen had brought her to Tarhelm, a rebel outpost built in the Firnin Mountains, almost a hundred miles from Berona. It appeared Yana and Tanner were more than they had seemed.
Ella let the crisp air fill her lungs, held it for a moment, then exhaled, watching her breath plume out in front of her. It was the first time she had stopped moving since she and Rhett had left The Glade and the first time she had felt even the slightest bit safe since he had died. Ella shook her head as the thought took the air from her lungs. She closed her eyes, trying desperately to stop the tears. She couldn't deal with any more tears.
Ella opened her eyes at the feel of Faenir's coarse fur rubbing against her side. The wolfpine was the only creature within a thousand miles that Ella trusted completely. There was something about him that seemed to fill the holes in her heart, at least for a time. It was as though Rhett himself had sent him to watch over her.
Looking down, Ella stared into Faenir's golden eyes. Farwen's words drifted through her mind. 'Blood of the old druids flows in your veins.'The longer Ella stared, it seemed as though the world around her began to fade, dulling at the edges. A warmth touched her mind, a deep feeling of kinship. Just a flash, then it was gone. But she had felt it, as though Faenir's mind had drifted into her own, if only for a moment. Ella whispered, "A druid…" She leaned forward, resting her forehead against the flat of Faenir's snout. "What does that even mean?"
Ella lifted her head to the sound of hurried footsteps echoing into the alcove from the connected system of tunnels. Raising herself to her feet, she brushed down the front of her dress and followed the noise. "Come on, boy."
Each of the caverns, chambers, and alcoves of Tarhelm were linked by a series of interconnecting tunnels that Ella could only think to compare to an ant nest. The tunnels were wide enough for three or four people to walk abreast, and she easily could have stood on her own shoulders twice over without touching her head to the ceilings.
The entire place was essentially one enormous maze.
As Ella drew closer to the hurrying footsteps, she could hear voices. She couldn't make out anything the voices were saying, but they held an urgency that let her know something was wrong.
Picking up her pace, Ella ran down the tunnel, following the sounds. She couldn't be entirely sure, but she thought she had come this direction before. Though, it was not as if she had spent a lot of time exploring Tarhelm since she had arrived. After a few minutes, she emerged into a large, open cavern that held several brown stone buildings. She had been there before. It was the medical quarter where Farwen and Yana had taken her when they first arrived at Tarhelm after leaving Berona.
Directly in front of Ella was a small building carved from the same brown stone as all the others, with a red blood drop painted on its wooden door – the infirmary. Beside the door, she saw Yana sitting on the ground, her hands clasped at the back of her head.
Ella dropped to the ground in front of Yana, her breath catching in her throat. "Yana, what's happened? What's wrong?"
Yana lifted her head. Tears marred her cheeks and her eyes were red and raw. In the short time Ella had known her, Yana had been nothing but sharp and fierce. The woman had threatened Ella with physical harm more than once, and Ella had no doubt she would have carried out the threat if needed. She was a force of nature. That is why the sight of her now frightened Ella to her core.
"It's Tanner," Yana said, forcing her voice through a hoarse, sob constricted throat.
"Yana, what happened?"
Yana's eyes grew cold, her breathing slowed, and her sobbing stopped. "I told you I would kill you myself, if he was harmed…" She clasped Ella's shoulder, her fingers digging in so hard it hurt. A slight tremble set into her voice. "Ella, if he dies…"
Ella's throat went dry. Tanner had helped her when he had no cause to do so. It was because of her that he had put himself in danger. Please be all right. Please be all right. "Yana, where is he?"
"Inside." Yana said through gritted teeth, her eyes still locked on Ella's.
A shiver ran through Ella's chest as she looked towards the door of the infirmary. She reached down to help Yana to her feet. "Yana, get up. Come on."
"Get your hands off me!" Yana slapped Ella's arm away. But then a tear rolled down her cheek, a crack forming in her walls. "I can't see him like that…"
Ella brought her eyes level with Yana's. She knew the pain she saw there. It was the same as her own. The same pain that stabbed at her with every stone she placed on Rhett's grave. She rested her hands on the woman's shoulders. "He needs you right now. Get up."
Yana returned Ella's gaze, her eyes glistening. She clenched her jaw, her breathing growing deep and heavy. "He's a fool…"
"All men are," Ella said, lifting Yana to her feet. This time, the woman didn't slap her away. She took Ella's arm.
Ella pushed open the infirmary door, Yana following behind her.
The infirmary was double the size of the alcove Ella had been sitting in, with cots lining both the far and near walls interspersed with cabinets full of medicine and herbs and a long stone table in the centre. Most of the cots were empty as Ella and Yana entered, save for a woman who sat at the far end of the room, a bloodied bandage wrapped around her head. Three people stood around another man who lay still on the centre table, his body laced with bloodied cuts and gashes. Tanner.
Farwen stood on the opposite side of the stone table, dirt bedded into her face, her white-streaked hair matted with blood. The elf's chest heaved as she rested her arm against a cot behind her.
Ella also recognised the person tending to Tanner as the infirmerer, the one who had tended to her when she first arrived. A long white cloth apron was draped over her front, and sweat slicked her brow.
The third person who stood beside Tanner had their back to Ella, but her skin was as dark as the petals of a dalya flower, and her long black hair was tied up with a piece of string. Judging by the sword strapped to her hip, she was no infirmerer.
"How is he?" A blend of worry, anxiety, and fear permeated Yana's voice as she pushed past Ella, stopping at the stone table.
"Stable," the infirmerer remarked, not lifting her head from the wounded man. "But it is hard to tell if he will make it through the night."
"I did all I could," the dark-skinned woman said, stumbling slightly to her right. "His wounds were severe, on the very edge of unsavable. Any more, and I would have taken my own life."
"Thank you," Yana said, her hand resting on the woman's shoulder.
"Your thanks are not needed, Yana. He is one worth saving."
Yana nodded, her mouth forming the meekest of smiles before she moved around to Tanner's side, wrapping her hand in his.
The dark-skinned woman sighed and turned towards Ella, the slightest look of surprise on her face. "So, you are the cause of all this trouble, then?"
A knot twisted in Ella's stomach, her throat going dry. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cause any of this—"
"No," the woman said, resting her hand on Ella's shoulder. "I will have none of that. Tanner joined us because he saw that every life is worth saving. He knew the risks of what he did. Though, to risk so much, with such little hope of evading detection… For that, there must be a reason. Is there any light you can shed on this?"
Ella shook her head, feeling nauseous at the thought of someone else losing their life for her. "No… His nephew… We were…" Ella paused. "We are Ayar Elwyn." One Heart.
The woman smiled, the corner of her lips turning upward only slightly. A smile that contained both happiness and loss. "What is your name?"
"Ella. Ella… Fjorn."
The woman reached out her hand. "Well met, Ella Fjorn. I am Coren Valmar. Welcome to the rebellion."
Rist sat in his chambers, the glow of twilight drifting through the windows. His back rested against the wall, his legs stretched out in front of him, feet sticking off the side of the bed. His new robes were draped across his lap, his thumb and forefinger rubbing the edge of the fabric in a semi-dazed repetition.
The heavy robes were woven from a fabric of which Rist had no knowledge. They were brown in colour with a black line running about an inch back from its edge. Black, the colour of the Battlemages. He was officially a second-tier apprentice.
Rist let out a heavy sigh, tilting his head back, letting it rest against the cold stone. As he sat there in his chambers, in the embassy of the Circle of Magii, in the imperial palace, the robes draped over his lap, he was uncertain. Uncertain of who he was, what he wanted, and of who he would become if he stayed on his current path.
He missed home and his family. Calen. Dann. What he had seen in the Trial of Will only made that yearning stronger. It had shaken him to the core. He could still see the lights go out in Tharn's eyes, and the blood streaming from his mother's throat. He could hear Calen's words. You should have been by my side.
It had not been real. It had been some kind of illusion created by the well, Rist knew that. But he couldn't lie to himself. When he was inside the well, he had not been able to tell it was not real. He had killed Calen. That thought alone was enough to turn his stomach. There were very few people who had stood by Rist growing up. In fact, he could count them on one hand: Calen and Dann.
When the other children had bullied him for being shy, or skinny, or different, it had been Calen and Dann who stood by his side. Dann liked to poke fun at him, but that was simply Dann. It was his way. Calen never did, though.
"I hope you're both all right," Rist muttered, staring out the window at the dim glow of the already-set sun brushing against the dark blue sky.
Rist had thought about asking to go home. Of course he had. But what good would that do? He highly doubted The Circle would agree. The cost of passage from the North to the South was more gold than Rist had ever seen in his lifetime. But even if he did somehow make it back, there was no guarantee he would find Calen and Dann. In fact, it was a near certainty he wouldn't.
The Circle was the right place for him to be. He would be a fool not to glean every ounce of knowledge he could from this place. Not to read every book in the library, not to learn every way to weave the threads of the Spark together, not to learn how to wield a sword properly. With every passing day, he grew stronger. And once he was strong enough, once he had become a Battlemage, he would find them. Maybe, even, Neera could come with him.
Rist laughed, his father's words echoing in his head. 'The best laid plans of mice and men, my boy. They go wrong more often than not.' Of course, at the time, Lasch Havel was talking about how he and Tharn Pimm had once ended up face first in a pile of cow dung when trying to play a trick on Marlo Egon. But the moral of the story remained. Lay all the plans you want, lay even more, but expect them to fail and plan accordingly.
A slow, soft knock came from the door.
"Come in."
The door creaked open, Neera's head peeking through. "Hey."
Rist gave a lopsided smile, his eyes taking in the beauty of Neera's cheeks. "Hey."
That was when Rist noticed the black line that ran along the length of Neera's brown robes. "Battlemage," he blurted out, almost leaping from the bed. "You passed your Trial of Will, and Sister Ardal chose Battlemage!"
Rist wrapped his arms around Neera, pulling her in close. He wasn't entirely sure why he was so happy that Sister Ardal had chosen Battlemage as Neera's affinity, but he most definitely was happy. Of course, it meant they would get to spend more time together, but to be a Battlemage meant to put your life in danger. It meant Neera would put her life in danger. With that thought, Rist felt a pang of guilt in his chest for his selfishness.
"What's wrong?" Neera looked up at him from his chest, her dark eyes glinting.
"Nothing," Rist said, resting his chin on her head. "How was it?"
"How was yours?"
"Fair. Let's not talk about it. Want to celebrate?"
"I know a place."