Chương 2: Chapter 5: The Echo of what was lost- Part I

The noise from the gates faded gradually as the guards led us deeper into the eastern district of Fallowspire. Even inside the walls, tension still clung to the city like smoke after a fire. Soldiers moved quickly through the streets carrying bundles of arrows and oil while lanterns burned from nearly every window overlooking the narrow roads. People watched from behind shutters as we passed, their faces pale in the torchlight before disappearing back into the safety of their homes.

Nobody trusted the night anymore. Ciara drifted in and out of awareness beside me as Garrick helped carry part of her weight through the crowded streets. The fever had nearly consumed what little strength she still possessed during the final push toward the gates, and by the time we reached the eastern quarter, her steps had become little more than dead weight against our shoulders.

"She's burning alive," Garrick muttered grimly as he glanced toward Ciara's pale face while we carried her through the eastern district.

"I noticed," I replied. Garrick shot me a tired look in the torchlight.

"That wasn't sarcasm, Kaelen."

"It rarely is," I said. He shot me a tired look but said nothing further. The eastern wing stood near the inner wall of the district, separated from the surrounding streets by a narrow courtyard lined with old stone arches and half-dead winter vines. The building itself had once served as a barracks generations ago before the city converted it into temporary lodging during harsher winters and flood seasons. Tonight, it looked more like an overcrowded infirmary.

Guards pushed open the heavy doors the moment Garrick approached. Warm air flooded outward carrying the scents of burning cedar, herbs, damp wool and blood.

"Healers!" Garrick barked immediately.

"Move!" The room burst into motion. Several medics hurried toward us carrying bandages, bowls of steaming water, and armfuls of fresh cloth while others cleared one of the larger cots near the hearth. A grey-haired woman wearing thick leather gloves reached Ciara first and pressed rough fingers briefly against her throat before swearing softly beneath her breath.

"How long has the fever been this bad?" the healer asked.

"Since midday," I replied.

"She should already be dead," the old healer muttered.

"That possibility was discussed," I replied. The woman glared at me sharply.

"You always this irritating?"

"Usually worse," I said. Garrick rubbed one hand across his face.

"Merrow, please." So, she was still alive after all. Older than I remembered perhaps, but still carrying the same sharp eyes and exhausted expression she had worn years ago whenever another idiot stumbled into her care bleeding from something preventable. Merrow looked to the others immediately.

"Attend to the children first. Smoke inhalation can turn ugly overnight." Another healer guided Eammon and Aine toward a smaller table near the fire while Aibell followed close behind them, exhaustion nearly visible in every step she took. The moment Eammon sat down, the boy finally loosened his grip on the carving knife still hanging awkwardly from his belt. Aibell noticed and gently took it from him before brushing soot-darkened hair away from his face.

"You did well," she whispered softly. The boy looked moments away from protesting before sleep overtook him entirely where he sat. For the first time since Blackthorn burned, the room around us felt warm and human, safe but not fully. Hands moved with purpose instead of violence. Voices stayed calm. The fire crackled while healers stitched wounds instead of creating them. The contrast unsettled me more than I expected. Merrow pointed at another chair near the fire without looking at me.

"Sit, before you collapse."

"I'm fine," I replied. She glanced once at the blood soaking slowly through my shoulder bandages before looking back at me with open irritation.

"You're bleeding through two separate bandages and I can smell smoke in your lungs from across the room."

"That feels excessive."

"It's experience," she replied dryly. Garrick snorted softly beside me before lowering himself onto a nearby bench with a weary groan.

"Gods, I forgot how much I missed listening to you two argue."

"I'm not arguing," Merrow muttered while forcing me into the chair by my shoulder.

"I'm keeping another stubborn fool from dying out of spite." If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

"Comforting," I said.

"You're welcome," she replied without looking up from the ruined bandages around my shoulder. The warmth from the fire settled into my bones the moment I finally stopped moving. That was the dangerous part. As long as we kept walking through the forest, exhaustion remained distant enough to ignore. Now that walls surrounded us and other people carried the burden for a while, fatigue crashed into me all at once.

My shoulder throbbed steadily beneath the ruined bandages while smoke still burned faintly within my lungs every time I breathed too deeply. The room itself felt too warm after days spent beneath cold wind and pine shadows. Across the room, Ciara cried out weakly as the healers began cleaning the wound properly. Aibell moved to her immediately.

"She'll live," Merrow said quietly as she unwrapped the bandage around my shoulder.

"Assuming the fever breaks."

"And if it doesn't?" I asked. Merrow glanced briefly toward Ciara before answering.

"Then you dragged her through half the northern wilds for nothing." Blunt as ever. I looked toward the fire rather than responding. Somewhere beyond the walls outside, another warning horn echoed faintly through the city. The sound rolled across the streets before fading into uneasy silence again. Garrick noticed my expression.

"You can stop looking at the gates," he said quietly.

"You're inside now." For tonight. I did not say the words aloud. Nemain pulsed faintly at my side beneath the cloak, always watching, always waiting. The eastern wing grew quieter as the night deepened around the city. Most of the healers drifted to other rooms once Ciara's fever stabilized enough to stop threatening her every passing minute.

Merrow remained longer than the others, muttering complaints beneath her breath while forcing bitter-smelling medicine between Ciara's lips and changing the bandages wrapped around her leg with the efficiency of someone who had spent too many years stitching broken people back together. Eventually even she disappeared into the adjoining rooms after pointing a warning finger toward me.

"If that shoulder tears open again tonight," she said sharply, "I'll sew the arm to your ribs personally."

"That feels medically questionable," I replied.

"It also feels motivating," she said before disappearing into the adjoining rooms. The fire crackled in the hearth after the room fell quiet. Aibell had fallen asleep sometime during the last hour while sitting beside the children near the fire. Eammon rested against her shoulder with a blanket pulled tightly around him while Aine remained curled beside Ciara beneath my spare cloak, the soot-blackened doll still clutched in both hands.

For the first time since Blackthorn burned, they looked like people instead of survivors. The thought stayed with me longer than it should have. Ciara remained awake despite the medicine dulling her fever slightly. She lay against the pillows near the hearth watching the flames flicker across the room while exhaustion settled heavily into the lines of her face.

"You should sleep," I said quietly. She opened one eye faintly toward me through the exhaustion weighing her down.

"So should you."

"That answer's becoming repetitive."

"So is nearly dying," she muttered. Fair enough. A faint smile touched her face before fading again. The silence that followed no longer felt uncomfortable, only tired. Outside, distant footsteps echoed through the streets while warning horns occasionally drifted faintly across the city walls. Whatever fear had spread through Fallowspire before our arrival had not faded with nightfall. Ciara watched me glance toward the shuttered windows again.

"You think the raiders will come here?" she asked quietly.

"Maybe," I replied.

"You always sound like you're expecting the worst."

"I usually survive because of it." Ciara studied me for a moment before letting her head rest back against the pillow again.

"That sounds exhausting." It was. I leaned back slightly against the stone wall beside the hearth and closed my eyes for only a moment. The warmth from the fire settled heavily across my body while the exhaustion I had ignored since Blackthorn finally dragged properly at my thoughts. Every muscle ached now that movement and danger had stopped demanding attention. I must have drifted eventually. Just enough for the room around me to blur beneath the crackling firelight and soft breathing surrounding the hearth.

Then the dream took me completely. Ash drifted through the air like falling snow. The smell reached me before the memory did. Burning cedar, blood, smoke thick enough to choke the sky itself. I stood barefoot in the ruins of the grove, my home or what had once been home. The ancient trees surrounding the clearing had burned black from root to branch while embers drifted endlessly through the darkness between them. Bodies lay scattered across the ruined earth beneath layers of ash and shattered bark.

Men and women, I had known my entire life, teachers, friends, children all dead. The silence hurt more than the screams ever had. Nemain pulsed warmly in my hand, not the worn black blade resting at my side now, but something alive and starving and vast beneath my fingers. Dark fire crawled along the steel while whispers coiled through the smoke surrounding the clearing. Kkkill. Fffeed. Sssurvive. The voice no longer sounded separate from my own.

A shape moved between the burning trees ahead of me, too large, too wrong. Its eyes glowed like embers buried beneath ash while smoke curled constantly from the spaces where flesh should have been. The forest itself seemed to recoil from every step the creature took across the ruined grove and still it smiled at me. With triumph and recognition.

"You carry what is mine." The voice shook the clearing hard enough to crack the burning earth beneath my feet. Nemain throbbed hungrily within my grip.

"Return it," the voice demanded. I tried stepping backward but the blade would not let go. Ash swirled violently around the clearing while the creature moved closer through the smoke. Behind it, the dead watched silently from beneath the ruins of the grove, accusing and waiting. You survived. The words came from everywhere at once. Why? My chest tightened hard enough to hurt. The demon lifted one burning hand toward me. And I woke with Nemain half drawn from its scabbard.

The room around me snapped back into focus beneath dim firelight and cold sweat. My breathing came too fast. The eastern wing remained quiet except for the crackling hearth and distant footsteps somewhere deeper in the building. Everyone else still slept. Everyone except Aibell. She sat motionless near the fire watching me from across the room, exhaustion still heavy in her face despite the alertness in her eyes. For a few moments, neither of us spoke.

Then her gaze dropped briefly toward Nemain still partially unsheathed in my hand.

"You were dreaming," she said softly. I slid the blade slowly back into its scabbard.

"Yes."